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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24268477">Trials and Tribulations</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyGod/pseuds/GallifreyGod'>GallifreyGod</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Law &amp; Order: SVU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cancer, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, F/M, Heavy Angst, Surgery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:41:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>73,232</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24268477</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyGod/pseuds/GallifreyGod</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After an unexpected diagnosis, Olivia Benson is faced with both her greatest fears and greatest regrets. A ticking clock and a choice to be made, she fights to find a middle ground between the two. Along the way, the skies clear in the same direction of someone whom she never knew she needed until the time came.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Olivia Benson/Elliot Stabler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter One - Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>set after somewhere after season nine</p><p>Trials and Tribulations playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6CMr0SpgI8NpJwobZW1Pyu?si=lcMwKPkVTjiag1pnL2HHqg</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This was all routine.</p><p>She knew that. She accepted that as fact despite her other appointments never going quite in-depth as this one. She could still hear the hidden worry behind the upbeat tone the nurses used as they told it was completely normal. She didn't want to think about the idea of this appointment being anything other than common or else the panic would set in and she wouldn't be able to breathe.</p><p>She could barely breathe as it was, sitting and waiting as the hands on the clock moved ever so slowly.</p><p>She had been feeling a little more run-down than usual. That was the job, she accepted that as well. But a small voice in her head had continued to remind her that she was much more run-down than usual. There hadn't been as many on-foot pursuits or logged hours of overtime. At least not more than she was used to. Things around the precinct were slowing down as they did every few weeks.</p><p>She had no reason to be feeling run-down.</p><p>Staring down at the polka dots on her faded blue hospital gown, she wondered if this was actually what she hoped it was; routine, that is. Her fingers played at the frayed hems and the loose stitching. The waiting room of the radiology department was empty and the only other company near her was the sound of soap operas playing quietly on the television across from her.</p><p>Was she supposed to call someone? Hell, did she even have anyone to call? Specialists always preached about moral support from friends and family during times of testing. Who did she have to call? It was far too much of a personal matter to call Elliot and maybe Casey wouldn't mind but she didn't quite feel the need to bother her yet... because this was <em>routine</em>. Nothing serious, just annual testing.</p><p>Or, at least it was when she had first arrived. Until the doctors asked her if she could spare another half hour so they could run one more test. The first one showed an abnormality — but they rushed to assure her that sometimes that happened. Sometimes the first scan showed something that needed to be seen better in order to be dismissed.</p><p>Routine — to some degree.</p><p>She felt naked. Alone in the quiet, bleak, and beige waiting room. Without her badge strapped to her hip or her gun in the holster of her belt, she always felt vulnerable, but never quite like this. With a scrap of a gown covering her body and hospital socks slipped onto her feet. She felt the urge to protect herself. To wrap her arms around herself as if everyone who passed by could see right through her.</p><p>Just by looking at her, they didn't know she was a cop. They didn't know her past or her present. They saw a patient. Just another civilian amongst them, just as vulnerable as the next person.</p><p>The panel-covered tube light above her head flickered, reminding her of the endless number of nights between the four cement walls of the interrogation room. Only this time, she felt like she was the one being interrogated. Her own thoughts, debilitatingly and fearful thoughts that came with the misfortune of being a patient in a hospital.</p><p>
  <em>What if?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>No.</em>
</p><p>Once she had gotten her annual checkup postcard in the mail, she had hesitantly taken the day off to get herself looked over. She was always hesitant about these things. It scared her. Being who she was, who and where she came from, she didn't have the luxury of having a full family history. She wasn't aware of what she was at risk for and what she wasn't. Which monsters were she supposed to look under the bed for? Against her greater fears, she listened to her conscience and made the appointment.</p><p>"Benson,"</p><p>She pushed herself out of the chair, the sticky pads on the bottom of her socks snapping quietly against the linoleum floors. Each step only made her grow more nervous, her breath becoming heavier as she followed the nurse back into the exam room. It was like walking to her doom, lead-lined walls escorting her and growing thicker as she ventured back. She was once again met with another beige and unwelcoming room. The paper that lay rolled over the table crinkled as she hoisted herself up.</p><p>There it was again. That sinking feeling of vulnerability.</p><p>"Sometimes tissue can be too dense for a mammogram to read properly, so we like to follow up with an ultrasound just in case." the nurse warned, but her words went in one ear and out the other. Olivia just stared up at the ceiling, counting the grooves on the textured ceiling panels until she lost her place and started again.</p><p>The cool gel on the ultrasound wand glided against her chest. If she looked over at the screen, what would happen? Closing her eyes wasn't an option, instead, they would open at their own volition. If she closed them, the over-stimulation of the world around her would dull and she would be left alone with her most unwelcoming thoughts. She couldn't keep focused on anything other than the energy emitting from the radiology technician beside her. From the corner of her eye, she managed to catch a glimpse of the woman's face.</p><p>And the concern she wore.</p><p>She bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to look away and close her eyes before she became anymore anxious and nauseous. The machine whirred as it snapped photographs of the prime suspect. Even with her eyes clamped shut, a single tear managed to roll down her cheek and down into the cavity of her collarbone. Each silent moment that passed became worse than the last. She couldn't ask; she didn't dare.</p><p>In her line of work, it wasn't uncommon to have her life flash before her eyes. Each time it happened was worse than the last. She couldn't say that was the worst part; not really. Each time it happened, a small and simple message was delivered to her from her subconscious. A message of her deepest regrets, the things in her life she wished she had been able to do. Yet, she was still living... and she continued to ignore those messages.</p><p>Until now.</p><p>She wasn't facing the barrel of a gun, but her life was flashing right in front of her with, by far, the loudest reminder of everything she had failed to do before her time. In those moments, her brain was trying to tell her that it was possible that time was running out. Denial was her specialty though, so she'd make the best of it.</p><p>The nurse didn't have to say anything; neither did the radiologist and oncologist who sat her down after her appointment and left an explanation on deaf ears. Somewhere in the warbled speech that she didn't quite understand was an urge to seek support. Therapy groups, friends, colleagues, and family. She wasn't listening to a word either of them said. Her eyes never quite focused on the pamphlets that were handed to her. All she could think about was going home to lay on the couch in solitude. Maybe for a day, maybe for the rest of her life.</p><p>Did most women cry when they received news like this? She knew grief, she knew what it looked like when a father stood over his child's body and didn't even tick. Or when a family member unknowingly shows up at a murder scene and doesn't move a muscle out of shock. She knew that their emotions were boiling low. Was that happening to her? Why wasn't she crying? Why didn't she feel anything?</p><p>There was nothing. </p><p>Nothing at all. </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter Two - Cragen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Her fist rose and fell several times as she tried to work up the courage to knock. She had barely remembered the address, double-checking it twice in her phone contacts to make sure.</p><p>Even in the darkness of the evening, she had found her way eventually.</p><p>The doorman had been kind enough to let her in, assuming it was probably because she looked like hell. Maybe he could tell she was coming to deliver bad news and didn't want to add even more of a hard time. Or, maybe he just didn't care. It was New York after all. Not everyone had the skill of reading faces such as she did; nor did they have the capacity to care.</p><p>How many times would she have to knock on someone's door? Ruin someone's day? Pick up the phone and having to end the call after gutting one of her friends with bad news? The longer she thought about it, the longer the list grew. Better yet, when would the news finally sink into her own mind? She hadn't mastered the art of distraction, though she was fairly good at it. Still, she could only drink so many cups of coffee and clean out her inbox before there would be no distraction left and she'd need to face reality.</p><p>Finally, her fist made contact with the wood of the front door, alerting with the softest knock. She waited a few moments, balancing her weight from one foot to the other in anticipation. She chewed at her thumbnail, listening to the sound of footsteps growing closer.</p><p>"Olivia?" Captain Cragen asked as he swung the door open. She wasn't usually a sight he would see standing at his doorstep, but she was always welcomed. He must've quickly been able to read her expression because his shoulders softened and he kept himself from asking her what was wrong. "Would you like to come in?" he asked cautiously.</p><p>Surprising herself, she nodded. She had sworn it would be a quick drop by, no exchange of formalities. She had sworn a lot of things, she should've known by now that the universe always had a different plan... even if it was something as small as walking into someone's apartment. There was a reason why she had planned otherwise. It wasn't her intention to explain every rigid detail of why she was showing up to his home. She came to ask a question; a favor... that was it.</p><p>He stepped aside, allowing her to walk down the narrow hallway with her head hung low. "I'm sorry I didn't call ahead of time," she mumbled monotonously, sitting down across from him as he led her to the couch.</p><p>"Don't worry about it. Can I get you something? Would you like something to drink?" by the skittishness of his mannerisms, she could tell he wasn't used to company. That was okay, neither was she.</p><p>"Uh... no, no thank you," she replied, seating herself on the edge of the sofa with her body held tightly together. She didn't want to take up space; not when she already felt like a burden.</p><p>She stared down at the upholstery of the couch. It was a faded and outdated floral pattern, yet somehow it meshed nicely with the build of the place. It felt like a home; a safe haven of warmth that suited better than the folded up cot in his office.</p><p>"What can I help you with?" he asked once he settled. His voice, sometimes rough and angry, seemed to comfort her instead. He had always been reliable, somewhat of a father figure that she never had the blessing of having. He didn't accost her, he didn't demean her or belittle her. She had always been grateful for that; for how he handled his command with respect for his squad.</p><p>His question was a hidden search for any way to ease her obvious pain.</p><p>She licked her lips before she spoke, her eyes falling to the floor. She couldn't face him dead on, that would be too hard. "I was wondering how many vacation days I have?" she started to ask, making sure her voice wasn't going to give out on her as she spoke. 'Vacation days' made it seem so beautiful. Like she was jetting off to Rio for a few days to sip piña coladas on the beach.</p><p>Far from it though.</p><p>"Who are you and what have you done with Olivia?" he chuckled dryly, managing to pull a small smile from her as she brushed her hair out of her face. His laugh quickly dropped to resemble something more solemn and empathetic. "Time to take a break?"</p><p>She nodded carefully. "You know I don't like asking for time off... I just, I need it right now. Just a few days." she was pleading with him before he even had time to say no; not that he was going to deny her. He could see on her face as clear as day that something was struggling within her. Hell, he'd always been the one pushing her for time off, she couldn't see him denying her of it now that she needed it.</p><p>"Liv," he inhaled, settling further into the seat across from her. "You have exactly 42 vacation days saved up. Not that you'll need them, you can take as long as you need. We all need a break sometimes."</p><p>"Thank you," she muttered.</p><p>She briefly wondered if he would dare to ask. Would he pry? He never did before. He was like her in many ways. He was able to look at someone and know when they were ready to crack. Call it the job. It was a skill they all needed in order to get their work done. The only problem was that none of them ever knew how to shut it off. Every strategy they'd ever learned, every skill they honed, they took it home. Always. Elliot had always tried not to, but that failed right alongside his marriage. Munch was three divorces deep. Fin barely spoke to his son. Then, there was Olivia — who had nobody to take the job home to.</p><p>The room filled with an awkward silence as neither of them knew what to say next. As she rose to her feet, she pressed her palms to the tops of her legs to support herself. "You can ask me, y'know. I'll answer honestly." she said, finally bringing her sights to meet the old soul within his dark brown eyes.</p><p>He hesitated at first, she expected that. She knew his mannerisms by now. He knew his boundaries but he also knew just how close he was to overstepping them. "Are you okay?" he asked. He knew it was a stupid question. Another formality. She was breaking and he knew it, he expected it. There was a hollowness in her eyes that he had become familiar with over the years of being neck-deep in tragedy.</p><p>He stayed seated while she hovered over him. It was a power move she recognized, but a power move for her benefit. He was allowing her to feel a moment of control by being at a lower height than her. Maybe he suspected that was all she wanted; some goddamn control. So, he gave it to her in a small dose. Maybe it would've made her feel better if she didn't know why he was doing it. He pitied her.</p><p>"No," she answered simply, shaking her head with pursed lips. "No, I'm not."</p><p>He wouldn't be the last to ask. He was merely a small splash of a much greater wave that was cresting above her. Something in his gaze told her that it was becoming increasingly harder for him to look at her. Could he see the cracks? Could see the way she was breaking? Was it visible that she hadn't eaten in two days, that sleep was sparse and painful to come by? If someone shined a flashlight against her flesh, would they see the outer shell she wore beginning to break apart into tiny pieces?</p><p>It only took one moment. One morsel of bad news, and suddenly everything she had ever survived was right back to the front of her mind. Everything that she thought she had gotten over, it was festering deep inside of her. Except, it wasn't so deep anymore. Everything was rising to the surface. Just like that, she felt so damn small.</p><p>She was walking towards the door when she heard him speak. "Is two weeks gonna be enough time?" he asked, his tone low and gentle. When she turned to glance at him over her shoulder, she saw him staring down at the clasped hands in his lap. His lips stayed pressed tightly together, a moment of contemplation for them both.</p><p>He wasn't naive, not like the rest of them.</p><p>He was aged, but not jaded. He knew of the problems people faced in the real world, beyond the concrete walls of the precinct. There was still a part of him left that wasn't entirely corrupted by 'cop mode', but rather just plain human being. Something in his eyes gave it away that he knew whatever she was facing was likely more than a problem at work – but a real issue that cops often forgot they were bound to face. Something beyond the grasp of criminality. Something normal people on normal streets worried about.</p><p>She wasn't going to answer the question that his eyes asked. She would, however, answer the question that came from his mouth instead.</p><p>"Yeah, two weeks is enough. Thank you, Captain."</p><p>Even in a moment with her back turned to him, both of them knew she was lying. It would never be enough, it would only be the least amount of time she needed before she could face the real world again.</p><p>She wondered why he didn't ask her. Why hadn't he crossed the line that nobody should ever have to cross? Did he already know? Maybe it was branded upon her like a scarlet letter. A warning to the people she loved and those around her. Something bigger than words could ever be; bigger than one word could ever be. The final notice, the hourglass, the uncertainty of a ticking clock.</p><p>
  <em>Don't get too close. This person is in jeopardy.</em>
</p><p>Or, maybe he just relied on the idea that she would tell him when she was ready.<em> If </em>she was ever ready.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter Three - Casey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Liv? It's me, Casey. Are you home?" the persistent sound of knocking pulled Olivia out of her reverie. She was staring hazily at the television, which wasn't even on. Her phone was on the coffee table, receiving unread texts and unanswered calls for two days straight as it buzzed against the glass top. Her discussion with Cragen must've gotten around.</p><p>That must've set off alarm bells with everyone. </p><p>"Liv, I know you're in there." she sighed, her head thumping against the wooden doorway from the outside of the apartment. "Please let me in, I'm really worried." Casey tried again. Maybe if she didn't move, Casey would go away. Maybe the whole world would go away too. </p><p>If only she were that lucky. </p><p>With what little energy she had left, she pushed herself off of the couch and trudged to the door. As soon as the barrier was gone, she saw the nervous expression on her friend's face. "Hey," she whispered as she let Casey follow her into her apartment. "Sorry I wasn't answering my calls." She didn't bother to give any other explanation. She was too tired to come up with some complicated lie about her phone being in a dead zone when it was still ringing right there in front of them. </p><p>"I'm just glad you let me in," Casey said with a breath with relief as she set down her briefcase. "You uh... you're doing okay, right? Did something happen? Elliot says he tried stopping by but you took the key out of the hiding spot so he couldn't get in." the A.D.A's eyes dropped to the floor, her stature like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs. "He's really worried, Liv."</p><p>Oh yeah, she had forgotten about that. She'd heard him knocking but she had swiped the spare key from under the plant as soon as she had called in sick. Two days of staring at the walls in silence... well, in an attempt of silence. The walls didn't ask her any questions or kindly pester her about how she was feeling or what was wrong. Why couldn't her friends be like the walls? Why couldn't they just sit and let her wallow in a cesspool of self-pity?</p><p>"I'm fine, really." Hell, that couldn't have convinced even the dumbest person on Earth. She could hear how effortless her own tone was. The exhaustion had been to blame for that, once again. What was the point of putting in the effort to get everybody to leave her the hell alone if it wasn't going to work? She didn't even bother with eye-contact to try to seal her words with a little more reliability. If Casey didn't want to believe her, that wasn't Olivia's fault. </p><p>They could all believe whatever they wanted to, she had stopped caring.</p><p>"Oh, well, if you insist," Casey deadpanned, sarcastically rolling her eyes as she crashed down onto the couch next to Olivia. Just like that, the room felt a million times smaller. From the corner of her eye, Olivia could see Casey shrinking into her shoulders uncomfortably. "You uh — you know you can talk to me, right?" she asked, sounding heartbreakingly sincere. The crackle in her raspy voice sent lightning bolts to Olivia's tear ducts. </p><p>"Yeah," Olivia forced the word out, her own voice becoming increasingly unsteady as tears threatened to fall.</p><p>"I mean... I know all of us don't always get along, the stress of work, y'know? But uh—" she stopped, shaking her head as she scuffed under her breath. "Liv, you—you're kinda my best friend."</p><p>For once, Olivia was moved enough to make eye contact. She lifted her head, turning towards her friend with the lines of stress and fatigue prominent on her face. "Really?" she asked, her voice merely a ghost of a whisper. The way she arched her brows as she questioned made Casey realize that she truly didn't know that before it had been said.</p><p>"Yeah," she said as if it were the most obvious statement in the world. "I mean, I always want you to feel like you can talk to me. I know you usually talk to Elliot but I'm here for you, Liv. Seriously. No judgment, whatever it is, you can talk to me."</p><p>Olivia hung her head in shame. She knew Casey well enough to know that it took her effort to say something so vulnerable on her end... and she still couldn't even say what she needed to say. She certainly didn't want to say it, but she needed to at some point. Hearing Casey testify to the fact that she saw them as close friends only burned the wound. </p><p>"I don't... I don't think I can talk to anyone about this," Olivia muttered, her voice totally and utterly defeated.</p><p>Instead of overstepping a boundary or pushing her further, Casey carefully curated her next question. From what she deducted, whatever problem Olivia was facing had clearly not been spoken to Elliot about. That meant that it had to be bad. Unimaginably bad if she couldn't talk to her best friend and partner about it.  "Well, is there maybe a counselor you can talk to? Someone who doesn't have any attachments? Or maybe you could talk to Huang? I get it if it's something you don't want floating around the office."</p><p>Olivia's eyes reverting back to their blank state, staring endlessly in front of her into the nothingness. "I have the numbers for some counselors, yeah," she mumbled, suddenly caring a lot less about how much she said on the topic. "Maybe Huang, I don't know."</p><p>She wasn't sure why she said that. Her plan was total radio silence, and just like that, she found herself debating on talking to the company shrink? Maybe she wanted people to know. Maybe self-sabotaging her own silence was all she could do to truly break the news without breaking herself and others in the process. Yet, despite his title being someone who helps others deal with their issues, she couldn't imagine unloading this onto Huang. It wasn't a problem with her job, it was a problem that they would see her deal with as a friend, not a colleague. That meant expecting him to carry that burden of her secret on his back in any sense other than professionally.</p><p>She wouldn't lie to herself, she knew that George cared about her as a friend, not just a colleague. He'd been there to help her through the grief she faced over her father. She had confided in him about her brother, a fraternization that wasn't entirely work-related. </p><p>Could she really go to him with this?</p><p>"Liv," Casey's voice dropped to cautious levels with a sharp intake of her breath. "You weren't... y'know... attacked, were you?" she asked, genuine concern dripping from her hushed voice. The word dropped as it usually did with people who weren't used to seeing abuse everywhere they went. They did. The only change was that it was her. </p><p>"No," Olivia cut in quickly, laying those fears to rest. In their line of work, that was the biggest fear — and a valid fear that some of them had faced. That was as bad as it could be in Casey's mind. Rape. They had all seen such heinous things, the crimes of their job had replaced all thoughts of evil in their heads. It didn't get worse than that anymore... until it did. "No, nothing like that."</p><p>No, she wasn't attacked. She wasn't used or abused, not in the way that all SVU members feared. But if that was as bad as it could be in Casey's mind, she wondered how her friend would react when the truth came out. When they all came to realize that their fears were on a totally different radar. </p><p>She wasn't raped, attacked, beaten, stalked, kidnapped, abused, or broken. </p><p>She was malignant. </p><p>Something none of them would ever see coming. A whole new enemy on a whole new battlefield. It wasn't a perp who could be thrown behind bars. It wasn't a criminal who dodged justice. </p><p>Malignant. </p><p>God, that word had a way of making her shudder in disgust.</p><p>Still, somehow she felt violated. In a whole new playing field, she felt so damn violated at the thought of an intrusion on her body. It wasn't another human's touch that made her feel as if her skin was covered in unwashable dirt. She had felt that before, she knew what that was like. Lowell Harris had given her that awful experience. </p><p>She felt dirty in a different way now. A part of her body was no longer her own. Something within her that would either kill her or deform her. Another enemy in a whole new dimension of her world. She wasn't looking into the eyes of a human being who found pleasure in destroying people. She was face to face with disease, with sickness. A face that could not see its host with its own eyes. It was a soulless killer.</p><p>How could she bring that about to the people she cared about most? How could she expose them to yet another demon? </p><p>They'd know, eventually. She lived with that for now. The least she could do was spare them a little bit more time before they had to know... right? In her mind, it was the noble thing to do. For as long as she could handle it on her own, she would. </p><p>Which likely wouldn’t be that long. But she could try.</p><p>She wanted to.</p><p>"Liv," Casey whispered, her voice in a downward slope. "You're crying,"</p><p>Fuck, damnit! </p><p>That was happening every so often. Just a few lone tears leaking down her cheeks. It wasn't a proper cry, she still felt next to nothing. Two days and the tears fell at their own volition while she stood by and succumbed to the numbness.</p><p>"Sorry," she replied, wiping away the tears with the back of her hand. She was more annoyed with the fact that she was crying in the first place. She sniffled, hoping it would cover all traces of her façade breaking. The truth was, her façade had been cracking for quite some time; the diagnosis only seemed to speed up the process.</p><p>She was strong. She was oh so strong. But how strong could the strongest woman alive be?</p><p>"I uh — I don't know what to say," Casey started rambling, her voice going a mile a minute. "I mean, is this a personal problem? Some sort of relationship that didn't go well? Or did something happen at work? I—I mean, I don't wanna pry, really. I just wish I knew what to say or do because I don't think I've ever seen you like this and it's scaring me. Maybe there's something I can do to help, maybe—"</p><p>"Cancer," Olivia breathed out, instantly cutting her friend's incoherent babbling. She turned to look at her face to face, seeing a shocked and heartbroken pair of hazel eyes staring at her in return. Her own tears started to fall once again with no signs of stopping "I have cancer, Casey." </p><p>The word rolled off her tongue like poison. </p><p>Would the floorboards accept her if she could melt away into them?</p><p>She had wondered out of everybody who she would tell first. She certainly didn't expect it to be Casey. Except, the words just fell out. Words that she hadn't even had time to tell herself, she was telling Casey instead.</p><p>Casey stared at her longer, a vow of silence falling over her previously scrambled hysteria. Her lips fell apart, her jaw hanging ever so softly as the words ran through her mind. Rarely did she ever see Casey so speechless. Heaviness took over her eyes as they welled up with her own tears. Her brows arched as she stared at Olivia, somehow trying to decipher what the hell she had just heard.</p><p>Yet, no words came. The woman who always got the last word couldn't even get a word out edgewise. She just stared at Olivia, her own heart beginning to break with each moment that the news took to set in. Maybe it would be days until it set in for everyone, weeks even. Olivia had thought it a million times but she still couldn't shake the voice in her own head telling her that if it were up to her, she'd do it alone. She'd suffer in silence. She'd suffer treatment and sickness in the darkness. But the world didn't stop turning for her. It never did. It never would.</p><p>That was the cruelty of the planet. Time never stopped for more than a moment. Between one heartbeat and the next. </p><p>"But it's— it's fixable..." Casey's weakened voice cracked. "Right?"</p><p>Ah yes, the timeless question. </p><p>Is this the end?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter Four - Partner</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sorry for the short chapter :(</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Day five was no different than day one or two. It would be no different than day six or seven. The blinds in her apartment had stayed closed. She had laid in bed from ten at night till six in the morning, lazily staring at the ceiling with little hope of sleep in the future. Her eyes had closed a few times, fleeting moments of sleep that came and went. Each time, she woke up more exhausted than how she had started. </p><p>Her badge had laid sitting on the television console table. The small sliver of light that peeked through the closed curtains managed to reflect off of the tin. Each time the clouds cleared and the light peered through again, the reflection glimmered in the corner of her eye, nearly blinding. She refused to look at it. Instead, as she sat on her couch in silence, she ignored the presence of the badge and gun altogether.</p><p>She didn't want to be a cop today. Not yesterday, not tomorrow. For now, she wanted to be a human being. She wanted to finally have the ability to stop the world from spinning like any other human being did. Most people, well, most people could crawl into bed when they really needed to. She had never been afforded that privilege, not until the last week. </p><p>Five days since her diagnosis. Three days since her break officially started. Fourteen days didn't seem nearly as long as she had hoped it would. It seemed too long for the people who cared. More or less, the people who were confused by her absence. </p><p>Namely, Elliot, who had made it his mission in life to get ahold of his partner. Five days and not once had he chosen to honor her obvious request of solitude. Each day, like clockwork, he called. He texted. He emailed. He knocked. By now, his knuckles must've been bruised from continuing to knock on the door and call for her.</p><p>Her neighbors must hate her. </p><p>She didn't bother turning her phone off. Instead, she let it buzz against the coffee table each time he called her, hoping he could hear it from outside her door and get the message. She didn't want company. It didn't deter him though. Each time he heard his call coming through from the closed door, he proceeded to announce that he knew she was inside.</p><p>Each time, he was never met with anything other than the closed door that didn't open.</p><p>She didn't want to think about dealing with that turmoil when her leave of absence was finished. He'd be upset, reasonably. His best friend ignoring him, clearly not feeling as if she could trust him in her time of need. The logical half of her brain told her that he was just worried, rightfully so. But she also knew that explaining to him that he didn't have to be worried wouldn't stop him. </p><p>Sometimes, she ignored problems until they went away. It happened to be a bad habit she couldn't seem to break. </p><p>The knocking died down and for a moment, she thought maybe he had left. That was until she heard the sound of his body thump against the door. The light from the hallway that beamed under the threshold was covered.</p><p>He was sitting at her doorstep, waiting. </p><p>Knowing Elliot, he'd probably wait forever.</p><p>"Liv," he called out for the millionth time. Except, his voice came softer this time around. "I don't know what's wrong, but you don't have to tell me. I'm sorry for pestering you... I'm just worried."</p><p>Before she knew what she was doing, she felt herself lift off from the sofa. Her light and quiet footsteps made their way over to the door. She was only inches away from him, from being able to drown in the arms of someone who could comfort her. She was denying herself of that small mercy.</p><p>Instead of opening the door, she sat down from the opposite of where he had parked himself. Only less than two inches of wood separated them, but she could feel his familiar warmth from between the barrier.</p><p>If she listened close enough, she could hear his steady breathing. </p><p>She looked down at the gap between the floor and the door, seeing his calloused fingers sliding underneath towards her. It was odd, really. Somehow when the world had flipped to grayscale, it forgot to include the peach-toned skin that was him. </p><p>"Liv," he whispered, knowing she could hear him. He could feel her against the door, closer than she had been all week. "Just tell me that you're okay... even if you aren't."</p><p>Her eyes squeezed shut, fighting off the impending tears. She couldn't answer him and trust that her voice wouldn't fail her. Instead of words, her own fingers reached down and brushed against his that were visible from under the doorway. </p><p>The energy from the intimate moment coursed from his skin to hers. Such a small yet invaluable moment, a reassurance to either both of them or none of them, but not just one of them. Never just one of them. Never unrequited. </p><p>As soon as the pressure was released off of her eyelids, the tears she had been holding in carefully fell down her cheeks. She felt his finger hold tighter onto hers. Something as simple as an index finger intertwined with another. An unspoken message of trust. A message that he knew she would understand, even if she didn't understand anything else. </p><p>
  <em>'I'm your partner, for better or for worse.'</em>
</p><p>Her head rested gently against the frame of the door. She was allowing herself beyond more than what she had originally intended. She didn't want to allow herself any comfort, any sort of shelter from the storm over her head. Yet, somehow just his presence had become her kryptonite. </p><p>She found herself freefalling. Any further and she wouldn't have any willpower to stop herself. "I'm fine, El." she whispered almost silently. Just enough that he could hear her through the door. She hated lying to him, it rotted away at her insides. Maybe more necrotic than the cancer that lived along the walls of her chest. "I just need a few days to myself," </p><p>The raspiness in her voice was louder than her words. Even louder than the lies that she was telling him. There was no plan in store, no way she knew how to tell him or what to tell him. If it were up to her, she'd never tell him. But, just as everything else, the truth would eventually come out; probably even quicker if she tried to run from it.</p><p>She would tell him, eventually. Not today, not tomorrow. 'Eventually' was the best she could do. Out of everyone, he was the one she wanted to spare from all of this. She felt guilty enough subjecting her friends and colleagues to this, despite knowing that deep down, they truly cared about her. It wouldn't be a burden to them like it would be to her, but somehow she couldn't convince herself of that. </p><p>But to her, it was a lesser of two evils. Leave them in the dark, worried, or tell them and destroy them.</p><p>They were her family. They'd care no matter what, even if she didn't want them to. But she knew what it was like to be alone, truly alone. Her whole life had been spent virtually alone. Dragging people into her mess made her insides twist and turn with guilt. </p><p>She could already hear them all telling her that it wasn't a burden at all; that they'd be there for her. They wouldn't see it as anything other than what a found-family was all about.</p><p>But her freefalling was reaching dangerous levels and she knew that the only way she could ever regain the control she was desperate for would be by walking away. Just for now, just until she could finally conjure the strength to tell Elliot what was truly happening to her. </p><p>Without another word, she released her grip on his fingers and pushed herself up from the floor, wordlessly leaving him to himself. </p><p><em>Eventually</em> would have to wait. </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter Five - Kettering</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Normally, she'd be proud of how spotless the apartment was. The sink was empty, randomly tossed clothes weren't scattered, files weren't covering every surface. The dishwasher was empty because over the course of six days, she had finished a single glass of water and half a plate of Chinese take-out. Laundry wasn't left to be done because she had been wearing the same pair of clothes for four days. The only signs of human life in her home were the layers of dust that started to gather on every shelf and tabletop. </p><p>Her phone was still on the receiving end of countless messages; all unread. Elliot had left 22 voicemails — which slowed down after she finally spoke to him. Casey texted her at least twice a day, once in the morning and once at night. Fin had sent a few emails, carefully hinting that he was worried about her; not that she had the strength to read it. Munch was too busy to even notice her absence, though he felt the sudden emptiness in the squad room. </p><p>For the first time in six days, she was actually waiting for the phone to ring. It wasn't a call she had ever hoped of receiving. Rather than hoping for a friend to call, she was waiting for an appointment confirmation. Soon, she'd be waiting for a lot of those. </p><p>It was funny, oddly enough. When she had first been sat down at the wrong end of a desk, a concerned doctor speaking to her, she decided at that moment that she would keep her diagnosis to herself for as long as possible. She hadn't even made it two days before she had blurted it out to Casey and hinted to Cragen. </p><p>It was easier to outrun her secrets with different people. With Elliot, despite the gnawing feeling of wanting to tell him, she had found more strength in keeping it a secret from him. She didn't feel the need to protect her secret as strongly with Casey or Cragen. But with other people, people she wasn't as close with, there was no overpowering will to protect them that would end up guarding her secrets. </p><p>With him, the need to protect him from herself came stronger than the need to tell him the truth. </p><p>Despite popular belief, he had done the same for her. Way back, nearly lifetimes ago, he had kept his separation a secret. Most people thought that maybe it was because he didn't want to drag his personal life into the workplace. Although that might have been true, she knew in her heart of hearts that he hadn't told her because he didn't want to do any damage to her. He wanted to protect her from his own demons. His own angst. He despised bringing his work home, but he didn't like to bring his home to his work any bit more. </p><p>It was all for naught though. Not because he and Kathy got back together, but because they ended up following through with the divorce not long after Eli was born. He was alone. Truly, bonafide alone now. He could no longer protect Olivia from his damage, it was an integrated part of himself now. He went home to an empty apartment, and everybody knew it.</p><p>Looking back, she wished he had told her sooner. If Lorna Scarry hadn't spilled the beans, she wondered how much longer he would've waited. It seemed stupid to keep it in the dark from her, which should've been the turning point on her perspective of her own situation. It wasn't. But she understood now.</p><p>She knew Elliot would want to know. He'd want to be there for her, to comfort her and be the friend she needed. Olivia was good at denying herself of any sort of luxury, it came with the trauma of a broken home. Abused kids who were brought up to feel as if they deserved nothing, growing into adults who felt the same. She simply couldn't let him help her. Not now at least. Not until the choice was taken out of her hands and put into someone else's. If it were up to her, she'd never tell him. She'd carry on as if nothing was happening. But she couldn't. A two-week break away from everyone was the best she could do. </p><p>The sound of knocking on her door broke her out of her trance. So many people had knocked on her door over the course of the week that she could practically tell who it was each time. She glanced at the clock, seeing that it was a quarter past seven in the evening. It couldn't be Elliot; he usually came from 11:30 to noon and then 8:30 to 9:00 pm. </p><p>"Liv, it's Casey."</p><p>She should've figured. The knocking was just light enough that it was familiar. She tiredly dragged herself off of the couch, forcing one foot in front of the other through the exhaustion. When she opened the door, she was met with Casey and a half-assed smile that came along with a steaming bag of take-out food. </p><p>"In the mood for company?" Casey asked with a light chuckle.</p><p>Olivia's smile didn't quite reach her eyes as she nodded, allowing Casey to pass through the doorway. Maybe entertaining someone for a few hours would be healthy. She couldn't sit in solitude forever. Even the sound of Dana Scully's voice on X-Files repeats wasn't enough to keep her company anymore.</p><p>"What'ya say? Wanna get completely shitfaced?" she asked, dropping the bag of food on the counter along with anything filtering of her candor. </p><p>"Uhh, can't." Liv exhaled, sitting back down on her couch. "I'm waiting for a call from my doctor. But feel free to uncork the bottle of wine on the top shelf. It's all yours." The mere mention of the doctor caused Casey's heart to drop. Her movements slowed down as the words sunk further. A few moments later, she gathered their plates and the bottle of wine, seating herself next to Olivia on the sofa. </p><p>"I don't really know what to say," Casey said, a few awkward seconds of silence passing beforehand. "I know you, I know you don't like being treated like a victim." her eyes darted to the side, seeing Olivia staring off into whatever space was right in front of her. "So, I don't know how to comfort you. I don't know what to ask. I don't know what's off-limits and what isn't." </p><p>Without even so much as a flinch, Olivia opened her mouth to answer. "Neither do I." she bit at her lower lip, her body staying so perfectly still, it was almost ghostly. "I've never done this before." </p><p>If she closed her eyes, could she melt away into the floorboards? Could she just disappear into thin air? She thought back to that first appointment, something in her stomach had been nagging at her. She knew that something was wrong. The only difference was that she had known that for much longer than she let on. She tried ignoring it until that stupid yearly scan appointment card came in the mail. The frequent swelling in one of her lymph nodes, the pain that ached quietly on her chest wall. </p><p>She had ignored it. Didn't dare to cross the boundaries that led into the unknown. Just like Casey, who didn't even know where to start. </p><p>The wine bottle on the coffee table caught her eye. She was scared to drink it. Sure, she could hold herself over during the phone call. But what about after? What was to stop her from chugging the entire bottle? And the other bottle of whiskey that stayed further back in the top shelf. What was to stop her from becoming her mother? It would take all of her fear away, all of her pain. She wouldn't have to face any of it if she was face down into a bottle. </p><p>She was always a moderate drinker, social and responsible. That was when life was okay, despite the horrors of the streets. But she saw that stuff every day, it became a second nature. This? This wasn't something she had already broken in. She couldn't promise herself the fact that she'd eventually put down the bottle on sheer willpower; not when she was facing her entire life hanging on a tight rope. </p><p>There was nothing stopping her from drowning herself in it all. It would be so easy. </p><p>"Have you told Elliot?" Casey asked quietly, breaking Olivia from her daydream. "He hasn't mentioned anything, but he's been acting differently."</p><p>"No, I haven't told El yet," she answered weakly. "I didn't tell Cragen much either. Just that I needed a few days. Right now... you're the only one who knows." she sighed, her head lolling back against the cushions of the sofa. She hadn't even meant to tell Casey. Sooner or later, everyone would know. She really wasn't sure what she was waiting for. </p><p>"I heard Elliot mention stopping by here... has he checked in with you at all?" Casey was being cautious, Olivia could feel it as the words hit her ears. She really didn't want to think about Elliot and all the pain she'd caused him — and would continue to cause him. But she understood why Casey asked. She and Elliot were topics of discussion around the precinct. She wasn't sure why exactly. They were friends, they did their job, but still, everybody seemed to watch them with precision. Maybe it had to do with them and the metaphorical gold stars they received in Cragen's class.</p><p>"Yeah, he stopped by... about 75 times. I haven't spoken to him face to face though, I just told him not to worry." she didn't feel like explaining the depth of her conversation with Elliot to Casey. She wasn't even sure if it was actually a conversation, more like a moment. A moment she couldn't really put into words. All she really knew was how goddamn comforting it was to finally be less than an inch or so away from him; to brush her fingers over his. The entire moment could've gone without as many words and it still would've held the same impact for her. </p><p>He was the exhale of a deep breath she didn't know she was holding. </p><p>"I haven't said anything to anyone, just so you know," Casey added cautiously. Olivia could feel the hesitance in her friend, how fearful she was to step one toe over the line. "Nobody has said anything at the precinct; at least not anything that I've heard."</p><p>Olivia ran her fingers through her hair as she sighed. Her hand fell back down into her lap as she forced out the words that she didn't want to say. "Uh, you're the only person who knows. I mean, Cragen knows I asked for time off, but he doesn't know why. Neither does Elliot. I uh—" she paused, shaking her head ever so softly. "I don't think I'm gonna say anything until after I know more about the situation. I still have to meet my doctors, do a biopsy, make a plan. All I know is that right now, the chances of it being benign are... slim."</p><p>Casey audibly gulped as the words sunk in. "Well, your secret is safe with me,"  she whispered sadly. "If you need somebody to go with you, I'm just a call away." What she wasn't putting into words was how much she truly meant it. She'd postpone a trial appearance if she had to, even if it meant causing Arthur Branch to have a coronary. </p><p>"Thank you," Olivia smiled weakly, forcing a tough smile as she patted Casey's leg. "I have an appointment tomorrow, a sort of consultation. I was able to get into Sloan-Kettering..." she paused, squeezing her eyes shut as her heart rate started to speed up. It hadn't meant to come out sounding like an accomplishment, like some sort of over-achiever who was graduating with honors. "God, I never thought I'd say those words," she choked, a small stream of tears started to fall. </p><p>Before she could even register the sound of her own sniffling, Casey's arm was reaching over her shoulder, grasping her into a tight hug. Hugs were dangerous, always the easiest way to hide your face, Olivia thought. Through the sound of her own subtle cries, she could hear Casey beginning to choke up as well. </p><p>She had sworn that nobody would see her cry. She'd get through it, and she'd do it alone if she had to. But she'd be lying if she said it didn't feel entirely too cathartic to finally cry into something other than her pillow. Instead, for the first time, it was in the warm arms of a friend who cared more than she'd ever be able to comprehend. </p><p>"It's gonna be okay, Liv." Casey sobbed quietly into her shoulder. </p><p>Would it?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter Six - Pearls</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Alone in the bleak, white exam room, Olivia's clothes were carefully folded on the chair across the room. Once again, she found herself in a scratchy white gown with familiar blue patterns. Were they supposed to be flowers or polka-dots? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor had walked out after the exam, leaving her a moment to re-dress herself and talk in his office. He was nice, Doctor Keller. That had to count for something given that she'd probably be seeing more of the man than she'd ever want to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She briefly wondered who it was that designed the exam rooms and waiting rooms. Were the colorful and abstract paintings on the wall supposed to distract her from the crushing reality of why she was there in the first place? Were they meant to add cheer to a place that most reasonably sane people would consider a living Hell? At least it was a nice contrast to the sterility of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her thoughts began to wander again. Suddenly, she was reacquainted with the feeling of being dirty despite sitting in a room that stunk of bleach and betadine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cancer made her feel dirty. Disgusting, filthy, tarnished and polluted. She felt so polluted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She finally conjured enough energy to push herself off of the exam table and rid herself of the harsh cotton gown. Throwing on the knitted grey sweater, she thought about how different of a person she was the last time she had worn those clothes. It wasn't about the clothes, but she had never looked at that stupid sweater and thought</span>
  <em>
    <span> 'I'm not gonna be the same person next time I wear that.'</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>That was dumb. Who would think like that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Miss Benson?" came the sound of her name being called followed by a knock on the door. "I can take you back to Doctor Keller now." the nurse smiled sweetly. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Miss Benson. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Here, she wasn't a detective. Just like the last test. Alone in a hospital waiting room feeling naked without her badge and gun. It wouldn't change. Each test, each exam, each meeting, it would never change the fact that she was sitting there not as a detective, but as a fellow human being. Just as vulnerable and endangered as the next. She'd never get used to that. Her badge had a way of making her forget that she was just another person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She followed the nurse down the center of the hallway, the walls passing her in perfect symmetry. Each step she took was more dizzying than the last. She wasn't new to the scene of a hospital, but she was new to the scenes of these kinds of hospitals. Balding heads, sickly patients of all ages, loved ones holding loved ones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that moment, it occurred to her again that she was alone. Truly, utterly alone. This time, thinking about it burned worse. The pain radiated from her stomach to her spine. When she had first realized she was alone, she was supported by the novocaine of shock, but it was wearing thin and reality was becoming louder. She didn't have to be alone, but at the same time, she did. It was the moral thing to do in her mind. She knew the offers would come, just as it had come from Casey. Shoulders to cry on had been offered, but she wouldn't accept them, thus absolving herself of any self-pity for now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She fought a lot of battles alone, some even the fight for her life; this one didn't have to be any different. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was seated across the desk of the doctor in a mahogany chair that was probably older than her. He flipped over the charted manila folder, examining the words, sparing no detail. His long-lived silence coming from careful diligence was at her expense only — pure anxiety as each moment crashed into the next. In front of his eyes, he was deciding her fate. Examining her chances on a preliminary basis. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, he set down the paperwork, crossed his hands and leaned forward towards her. "Before we dive into treatment options and how we plan to combat this condition, I'd like to run a few more tests. Just to cover all of our bases and get a better understanding of what we're dealing with and what to expect. Over the next few days, I'm going to order an MRI, CT scan, another ultrasound, and mammogram, as well as another biopsy."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was waiting for the other shoe to drop. For his exhale to come heavy with the weight of telling one more person their fate. Doctors always seemed to do this; to stop halfway through as if they were in some sort of dramatic movie scene. He'd breathe deeply, give her all of the sympathies he could evoke and then try to find some way to relieve her heartache.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, there wasn't much heartache to relieve. She was still relatively numb. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"From what I've seen so far in your exam as well as your workup and ultrasound, my firsthand assumption would be that you have Invasive Ductal Carcinoma. I also believe it may have become lymph-node positive, meaning it's spread to your axillary lymph nodes. We won't know the full extent until we're able to examine further. I will, however, say that strictly looking at your ultrasound, the cancer that has spread to your lymph nodes is still in the early stages which makes it easier to tackle." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sat as still as stone, her lips pressed together in a straight, emotionless line. Her blinking came slower, feeling as if she were sleepwalking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What was she supposed to feel? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sad? </span>
  </em>
  <span>The word spat incredulously in her mind. If she had spoken it aloud, her nose would've crinkled on the same side her lip would've quirked. But she didn't speak aloud, she couldn't even scream internally if she wanted to, let alone externally. Was anger part of the process? She couldn't remember. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The high pitched sound of tinnitus rang out to cover the silence. She'd forgotten that — her brain didn't understand silence anymore. Too many close-range gunshots and explosions had rattled her eardrums to the point where silence no longer existed. The longer she went without a response, the louder the ringing became. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Miss Benson, do you have any questions?" Doctor Keller asked, a hint of fear in his voice. He had undoubtedly dealt with thousands of patients before her and he would continue to after her. He was a goddamn oncologist. So why did he actually look disconcerted? She knew what these sort of jobs required; the distancing and the disassociating. Patients were simply numbers on the charts and timestamps on the calendars. "I know how hard this can be to take in all at once."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why was he looking at her like she was about to pass out?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sat longer than she had hoped to, relishing in the silence before her lips opened at their own volition. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"A broken string of pearls drops to the floor at the same time the drops of rain will fall to the ground. But I am not infinite as the pattern repeats. The rain will continue to saturate the dirt, long after I am buried beneath it. The shock and awe will continue to paralyze, day after day, if not myself, then somebody else. Another finite source. Another life that is lived in the same amount of time that it takes from the necklace breaking until the last pearl falls. A moment. A moment lived, a moment lost. All but a moment it takes to live, to see, then to die." </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She repeated the words as she remembered them, entirely verbatim. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With her eyes still hallow and empty, she started to speak again. "My mother read that to me several times. She was an English professor and one of her students wrote it for an assignment. Not sure why it stuck with me for all of these years — probably the same reason it stuck with her. Someday, she'd need it to explain how she felt when nothing else ever would. Maybe that's why she made sure it was ingrained into my mind; because someday it would explain the inexplicable." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not sure I understand," the doctor responded slowly, almost as weakly as she had sounded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes fluttered up to him, narrowing with a knitted brow for a moment before returning back to normal. "I'm alone." she said as if it were the simplest statement in the world "I've always been alone. Just a solitary pearl dropping to the floor, and every moment in between. I'm not sure how it pertains to this, all I know is that it's the only way I can explain how I'm feeling. Not like the necklace has just broken and that I'm the pearl that is falling, but that I've been falling this entire time, entirely on my own. You're telling me that some part of this new beginning may be easier, harder, or different than the other parts. I'm telling you that I'm looking at the bigger picture. The timeline, the rain falling, the pearl dropping."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor stared at her in silence, his brows softening but still holding the disconcerting look he had been wearing since she spoke. She watched the cogs turn in his mind, seeing the effect of her words rain down upon him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You don't have to be alone," he whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chuckled dryly, rolling her eyes as her head fell back. As if she hadn't heard that a hundred times before. "Yeah, right. I bet you tell that to all of your patients with husbands and wives. Children and grandchildren. Mothers and fathers. But you say it to them because you know they have a choice, you know they have a hand waiting for them to hold onto. To </span>
  <em>
    <span>choose</span>
  </em>
  <span> to hold onto. Next, you're gonna tell me that everything I'm feeling is normal, right? Stages of grief. The six degrees of separation from myself. Just do me a favor and schedule the tests so I can get this over with and get my life back." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hadn't expected herself to lash out. In fact, every word felt entirely too foreign coming from her mouth. She wasn't used to being broken down by something that didn't have two eyes and a darkened soul. She couldn't look this demon in the eyes like she could with all of the other ones. She'd never had to fight something she couldn't see or hear or analyze. Even memories had eyes if they were given to her by a human embodiment of evil. If her assumptions were right, that was where the anger was coming from. The unfamiliarity with an entirely new wavelength was lighting a fire within her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Miss Benson," he said, right as she stood up and started heading towards the door. Olivia stopped, gulping silently as she watched his hands drop against his desk. "The life you had before isn't coming back. You'll have to stop chasing it eventually."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stared through his crystal grey eyes for a silence-filled moment, allowing herself to remain quiet and stoic. "And what makes you think that?" she asked, her voice so low it became barely audible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor sighed, nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders. He was matching her energy; the attempt to be carefree in a situation that called for the most care. "It's different from here on out. I've been doing this job for over twenty years. I've met a lot of people, a lot of families, and a lot of cancer. I've seen every demon hidden behind every possible corner in this job. If I've learned anything at all, it's that after you hear the words </span>
  <em>
    <span>'it's cancer',</span>
  </em>
  <span> everything changes, forever. No matter what happens, no matter who you have or don't have. No matter what life you lived before, there's no chasing the past because you can't go back."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Through the brimming of her own tears, she swore she saw something of a sparkle in his eyes. She wasn't sure what it was, or if it was just her mind playing tricks on her. Maybe it wasn't even there. She briefly wondered if he was anything like her. Did he go home and feel the undeniable urge to lay in the dark after losing a patient? What was it like when he had to close a file for the last time, a person he had tried so desperately to help. Where were the dark circles under the eyes that came with the burden of helping people who couldn't always be helped? Did he ever look in the mirror and wonder, just for a moment, who the hell was staring back at him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it was exhaustion that was just pretending to be a sparkle in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it was just pure pain in hers. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter Seven - Self Pity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She was pitying herself. The thought occurred to her as she listened to the loud clanking of the MRI machine. It was snapping photos, carefully mapping every millimeter of tissue in her body that wasn't meant to be there. Foreign and unwelcomed.</p><p>Nothing but a scrap of cotton covering her body under the imaging. Her badge and gun were locked up at home, which was something she despised the idea of getting used to. Her signature golden-plated 'fearless' necklace away in some small locker outside the radiology room. Removing the chain from her neck felt like removing a piece of her body. Each day that passed, it became harder to accept how vulnerable she felt without the items that made her feel safe.</p><p>Self-pity, she didn't do that often. It wasn't her favorite game, and it certainly wasn't her favorite card to have in the hand that she was playing.</p><p>Beaten and nearly raped in the dirty basement of Sealview Correctional Facility and she still never pitied herself. Growing up with a drunk and abusive mother, no pity. Discovering that her father was a violent rapist, still no pity. Poisoned with nerve gas. Pointing a gun at a serial rapist, knowing she could kill her partner and best friend in the process. Watching a colleague blowing her brains out on the ceiling in front of her. Having her throat nearly slit in the middle of the GW bus terminal.</p><p>No self-pity.</p><p>How was this any different?</p><p>She used those moments to further her own grief.</p><p>Why was this different?</p><p>The machine let out another roar from within, but returned no response to her countless internal questions.</p><p>Why wasn't she being strong? Any logical person around her would vehemently try to convince her that she is being strong. The better question that remained was why didn't she feel strong? She had survived so much worse.</p><p>Well, the worst part of this hadn't even started yet.</p><p>Still, not an ounce of self-pity in those horrific, life-changing experiences.</p><p>Maybe nothing was different. Nothing at all. Maybe all of those horrid situations had broken her, slowly and over time. Was this just the final indignity that the events of her past had been lying upon? The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. She was so goddamn sick and tired of being sick and tired. Maybe that was it; maybe she just snapped. Not in anger, not in rage, but with the newfound ability to see the fact that she was suffering; and then to feel something about it. She was tired of not feeling anymore, now she had to face the idea of feeling everything.</p><p>Was that so wrong? Wasn't she entitled to just an ounce of self-pity?</p><p>Clank.</p><p>The MRI machine still didn't answer her.</p><p>That was her own fault though. She was looking for answers in all of the wrong places. What sort of answer was she supposed to find while laying paralyzingly still in the center of an industrial tube? Well, not any answer she'd want to hear anyway. All the damn thing could do was ruin her life further.</p><p>There was no answer to be found from where she was lying. No rhyme or reason that the metallic snapping and grinding of the machine could rationalize with her.</p><p>A few more days, that's all she needed. She wasn't jaded enough to chase the past a mile into her future and wallow in denial. All she wanted was a few more days of drowning in self-pity without feeling guilty. Her old life wasn't coming back, but did it really hurt to just pretend for a minute that it was?</p><p>For once, drowning felt so damn good. Her head was completely submerged into the waters and she could breathe easier than she would be able to on land. There was no more oxygen left in the atmosphere of being strong. The pressure became too strong and she just wanted to melt into the flow of letting those walls of unassailable internal strength come crashing down.</p><p>She'd undoubtedly feel double the guilt if she had chosen to surround herself with support and still pity herself. That was the best rationalization she could come up with for her reasoning behind doing the exact opposite; a little less guilt and a little more time. With nobody around to watch her, the guilt could melt away in tandem as she melted away into the pain.</p><p>She'd need to tell people eventually. Elliot was probably going out of his damn mind with worry. Several days away and the only contact she'd had with him was through the front door of her apartment. Lying on the floor, both of their backs pressed to the same surface as his fingers crept under the door and brushed against hers. As staggeringly comforting as the connection felt, it still brought on guilt.</p><p>For days, she had sat in her own home and felt like a stranger. All it took was being mere inches away from him to bring back the relief she was missing. It was just something about knowing that where her face was pressed against the cold wooden door, his was too. The mirrored actions, the way she could smell his familiarity without seeing him. It anchored her.</p><p>Which was precisely why she didn't want to tell him the truth.</p><p>They were partners, they were meant to lean on each other. But she couldn't ask to lean on him like this. Not now. That was reserved for the job. Cases, victims, any sort of stress that came with the shared territory. Of course, he'd instantly do everything he could to reassure her that he wasn't just her support from 9-5. He was her best friend and that's what best friends did, but she couldn't allow that. She just couldn't. He'd signed up for the badge, the partnership, but not this.</p><p>Still, her mind fought against every fiber of her being that wanted to finally just tell the damn truth.</p><p>But she was a glutton for punishment and she knew it. If she could pick between suffering with support and suffering alone, she'd always choose the latter. It was too much to ask of him, so she'd do this alone for as long as possible. She refused to get comfortable with the idea of him keeping her steady during a time like this. The few times she had heard his heartbeat against her ear, she had become addicted. There was no saying just how much she would depend on that now if she let herself.</p><p>There was no saying that his heartbeat in her ear would be permanent.</p><p>She wanted to be alone. She wanted to suffer. The numbness wasn't too bad, not when the absence of pain became almost pleasurable. Just another part of the grief cycle, the lack of feeling anything at all.</p><p>No, she could get through this just fine without him. It'd hurt like hell, maybe worse, but she could do it.</p><p>She didn't want to tell him at all. Though, some things she just couldn't control. Even if she tried, he'd notice soon enough. Hell, he already knew something was wrong. But soon, her body would change. Her mind and her spirit would warp into something that nobody had ever seen in her before. Maybe she'd become brittle and weak, lose her hair and bare more scars than she once had. Change was inevitable.</p><p>She'd tell him when she was ready. Or when he found out. Whichever came first.</p><p>"Ms. Benson... are you alright in there?" an unfamiliar voice sounded through the intercom. Damnit. She had forgotten that even in the center of the MRI machine, she could communicate with the radiologist and vise versa. With an invisible camera steadied on her face, that poor doctor had probably watched her sulk while volleying a million negative thoughts through her mind. If only Munch were here, she'd be able to crack a joke about how Big Brother was watching even during a medical procedure.</p><p>"Yeah, sorry. I'm okay," she sniffled, just realizing that she had started to tear up during her time in the not-so-silent-silence. She fought against the urge to wipe away the tears as she mentally reminded herself to stay still.</p><p>It was easy for her to forget that she wasn't alone, at least not in the moment. The consistent clunking of the machine had provided a sense of white noise for her to drown away in. The world drifted away beneath the sound, but she wasn't as alone as she'd hoped she was.</p><p>The intercom clicked on, but there was a brief moment of pause in which she could feel the hesitance coming from the other side. "I know how scary this can be," the voice started out soft and comforting. Like a motherly consolation that she'd never had the experience of savoring. "I've seen a lot of people in and out of here. After a while. you develop sort of a sixth sense about which patients are the strongest. If it's of any solace to you, I think you might be one of those people."</p><p>It certainly struck a nerve. First time in a long time that a good nerve had been stricken. Olivia closed her eyes and clamped them shut to ward off the oncoming sting of another flow of tears. She tried to take a deep breath, but the walls of the tube squeezed her body too tightly.</p><p>It was lonely in the machine.</p><p>It was lonelier in her head.</p><p>But she didn't like self-pity.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter Eight - Remember</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In times of great pain, it was easy for Olivia to forget her strengths. Even in the handful of moments that she thought her life would end, she held onto what made her strong. It was always the faces. The voices. They stayed with her, they fought for her.</p><p>The faces of the people she had helped never faded. They just went... <em>quiet.</em> Their voices in her head, reminding her of what she had done to help them, they slowly but surely fell silent. She saw their faces, their lips moving but no sound.</p><p>She remembered every face, it made her a good cop. Depending on the survivors to remind her of her durability was her downfall.</p><p>She was forgetting it all.</p><p>Her eyes drifted over to the orange prescription bottle on her countertop. One of what would likely be hundreds in the future. She wasn't sure if it was a customary action or if her doctors just saw her as depressed, but they had called in a script for an anti-depressant. As soon as she cracked the white pharmacy bag open, she was forced to ask herself if she would ever actually take them.</p><p>Would it end the numbness that she felt? Would she even want the numbness to end? She worked in trauma, she knew that feeling numb was the mind and the body's way of protecting itself. The lack of feeling anything at all wasn't so bad. She had expected to feel more emotional pain than she actually did. But now she was left to weigh the pros and the cons. Was feeling nothing at all worse than feeling everything?</p><p>The first night, the little purple pill of Sertraline sat in her palm for longer than she'd have liked to admit. The alarm clock next to her bed had flashed from 9:33 to 10:14 and the pill was still in her resting against the ridges of her palm. All she could do was stare at it while the glass of water on her nightstand turned lukewarm.</p><p>Maybe it wouldn't force her to feel the pain that was currently numbed. Maybe she could chase the feelings she had before. The doctor's words bounced between her eardrums for days.</p><p>
  <em>"The life you had before isn't coming back. You'll have to stop chasing it eventually."</em>
</p><p>She didn't want to stop chasing it. She never wanted to stop. That would mean she was no longer chasing herself and she desperately wanted herself to come back. The Olivia Benson she knew was wandering in the depths of some deep dark cave somewhere, a mindless placebo in her place. Even auto-pilot became exhausting.</p><p>Could the pills do that? Could they bring her back without awakening the sleeping bomb of negative emotions inside of her? Could it lift the psychological novocaine that was protecting her without breaking her in the process?</p><p>By the time the clock had ticked 10:15 that night, she had taken a deep breath and swallowed the pill.</p><p>What the hell, right?</p><p>But three days had passed and she was starting to notice that the medication was changing her. She knew its full effects wouldn't come in for a good two weeks, but the smaller things were becoming apparent.</p><p>Memory loss.</p><p>Google had told her it was a common side effect. Forgetfulness in small doses. Where she placed her phone, why she walked into her kitchen, what her last thought was. So short term that if she wasn't sitting in silence all day with nothing but her thoughts, she wouldn't have even noticed.</p><p>For the first time since her diagnosis, she finally felt something. It wasn't from the pills finding a way to unlock her brain and letting her raw emotions flow. It was frustration from the simple fact that she couldn't focus. She couldn't remember what the voices of the victims in her head were saying. Hell, she could barely remember if she had done the simplest things that she had set out to do an hour previous.</p><p>Nothing took her job away from her. Nothing. But cancer and its friends seemed to be stronger than she had anticipated, and the fight hadn't even started yet. The collateral damage of something like a fucking anti-depressant medication to help her through her fight, that was just the beginning. She knew it would be. She couldn't see the future but somehow it seemed so clear of what the path was ahead of her.</p><p>She couldn't forget those voices, she needed them. She couldn't forget those faces, they gave her more reason than anything in the world. She had found one thing in her life that gave her a passion, a passion that most people spent their whole lives waiting to find. How dare it be taken away. How dare it be that the universe decides one day that the wind would blow in a different direction and she would lose the one thing that kept her stronger than ever. She loved her passion. She loved the fact that she could take the pain that boiled inside her and work so damn hard to turn it into something better; something with worth. If she couldn't have that, then why was the pain even there? Why would she crack every bone in her body if it would help her harness that pain and turn it into passion if she couldn't even have that?</p><p>If she didn't have passion, she had nothing. Nothing worthwhile. Everything she ever loved or ever would love had to be rooted in passion. Without it, she was just a shell.</p><p>Within those days of silence and self-reflection, it started to feel like half of the battle was the ability to not give in. If she gave into it all, it would be so easy. Easy wasn't a choice in this fight. Giving in meant giving up. But oh how easy it would be to drift away into blissful ignorance and let the world float behind her in the rearview mirror. Her head could finally rest against her pillow with ease. She wasn't a quitter. She was branded as a survivor at birth.</p><p>If she could just close her eyes, she wouldn't need to be a survivor anymore. She'd never wanted to be one. It made her a good cop, great with victims, but at the end of the day, it made for a lousy life. A difficult life that part of her had asked to live and part of her didn't. She'd picked her line of work, she'd chosen to stay at SVU despite the average tour being less than two years. She would never deny that she had asked for that. But the rest? That wasn't decided by her.</p><p>It came down to a choice. Be a survivor.</p><p>Or don't.</p><p>Her thoughts stopped mid-way when a knock on her door had pulled her attention. With a little more energy than the days before, she managed to push herself off of the couch and towards the door. "Fin?" she whispered, seeing his familiar face through the peephole. She unlatched the lock on the door and in front of her stood her colleague with a bag of food in his hands.</p><p>"Must be one nasty ass <em>'cold' </em>you've got in order to be gone for almost two weeks." he grinned, letting himself into her apartment. She shut the door behind him and allowed herself the weakest smile. She hated to admit it, but she appreciated the familiarity. Still, a cloud hung over her head when she realized he still had no clue.</p><p>A cold. Ironic.</p><p>"Well, if I didn't miss work, you wouldn't bring me food. I guess I had to take one for the team," she lightly joked, lazily sauntering back into the apartment. "Who sent you? Cragen or Elliot?"</p><p>"What, I can't drop by to see my friend without prompting? Damn, I see how it is." he chuckled, setting the bag down on her countertop. She stared at him silently, her brows raised with unwavering suspicion. "Fine. It was Cragen. He said that Elliot hadn't talked to you so he sent me, but I brought soup to make up for it." he said, weakly pointing at the bag. She had to admit, even with a nonexistent appetite, the logo of her favorite Vietnamese restaurant on the bag made her mouth water.</p><p>She pulled out a barstool to sit on while he pulled out the two bowls of pho and chopsticks. He slid one of the bowls across the granite in her direction before sitting on the opposite stool. The silence had just begun to turn overwhelming before he spoke first. "We miss you, y'know. You still coming back in a few days?"</p><p>She pondered the question for a brief second. Despite how she usually felt when absent from work, she was actually dreading her return. Most of the time, her leave of absence was forced. Usually, a recommended vacation by Cragen so he wouldn't have to put a suspension in her jacket. She poked the noodles with the chopsticks, trying to pull a satisfiable answer out of her ass as quickly as possible. "I think, yeah."</p><p>Fin nodded quietly, playing with his food just as she had been doing. "We all need time off, Liv," he whispered in the rare voice he used to comfort someone. "But you're scaring me half to death. Your last case was pretty cut and dry. You won't talk to Cragen or even Elliot. Casey says she's talked to you a few times but I'm not even sure if she knows what's going on. Not that it's any of our business, but we care about you, baby girl."</p><p>They cared about her so much and all she could do was pout into her food. She loved the care they had for her and everyone else in the squad, but it came with guilt. She'd thought it at least a hundred times already, she didn't want to put this on their shoulders. It was heavy enough on her own, she couldn't pass this off for the rest of the squad to help her carry. They didn't deserve that. "I appreciate that, Fin." she stopped, debating on what to say next. How far should she go? Should she spill her guts or keep it locked in once more? "I really do. You're a good friend."</p><p>He leaned in closer to her from across the kitchen island. "You're family. We wanna help you, no matter what the problem is. If you don't feel comfortable telling us what's going on inside your head, that's fine. I get it. I just want you to know that whatever it is, we're here for you, Liv. That's what family does. We got your back."</p><p>Before she could stop herself or at least scold herself, tears welled up uncontrollably in her eyes. She rolled her head, finally looking up at him with a quivering lip. She wanted to register the last few moments on his face before she'd have to change it all. The purity that was bound to drop and shatter. Their friendship, their work relationship, the manner in which he viewed her. It would all change in a matter of seconds, just like her life did.</p><p>"Lymph node-positive invasive ductal carcinoma," she whispered, gulping away the lump in her throat as soon as the words left her lips.</p><p>He stared at her with knitted brows for a moment, trying to understand what she was saying. "Carcino—" he stopped, his brows lifting as the realization hit him. That. That was the face she had never wished to see. The hollow emptiness behind his dark eyes that took but a second to overcome his entire face. His jaw had fallen in the process and each moment for her was more agonizing than the last. He shook his head slowly and then all at once, as if he were trying to reverse the last six seconds of his life "No," he breathed.</p><p>Her eyes shut as she bit down on her lip to stop an oncoming outward sob. Gulping heavily, she was able to ward off the cry that nearly escaped. With a soft nod, she confirmed his fears. Yeah, <em>that's</em> the one. The one that nobody saw coming. "Cancer?"</p><p>She should've at least expected the speechlessness, but the silence that seeped into her bones was paralyzing. She wanted him to say something, anything at all to break up the charged atmosphere that threatened to fall apart at any given moment.</p><p>Was cancer the hell she was living in? Or was it the fact that every single day, they saw something new and more heinous than the last? It had driven them all far enough to forget that things like cancer even existed. Their radars weren't designed to see the terrible amongst other terror. Was that hell?</p><p>Which was the lesser of two evils?</p><p>The hurt in his eyes was scalding on her skin. In all her years beside him, she had never seen him wear such a grueling expression. Suddenly, pieces of the puzzle clicked for him. Why she was absent, why nobody could get in touch with her, why she refused to talk to someone like Elliot even. She wanted to hide the fact that she was breaking apart. But they did what family was supposed to do; they broke the surface. With a sledgehammer in hand, they had broken her shields apart.</p><p>Surely they'd regret it once they saw what was beneath.</p><p>The rest of their lunch was painfully quiet which eventually resulted in a loss of appetite. Everything after that was a hazy fog of lost memories.</p><p>Yet, long after he was gone from the apartment, the impression that Fin had left had stayed with her. Her heart was falling to pieces as the sound of his soft-spoken whisper of <em>'no'</em> had replayed in her head. She heard it on repeat, echoing throughout every room she walked into. As the hours of the night drew onward, the echo changed. She could hear it in all of their voices now. The people who she would eventually have to tell, their voices all spoke the same in her head.</p><p>
  <em>"No."</em>
</p><p>If she could choose to hear anything, she would've chosen the sound of her own breathing, since she was entirely certain she wasn't breathing at all. She wanted to hear it, to receive the reassurance that her lungs were still working and her feet were still planted on the ground.</p><p>
  <em>"No!"</em>
</p><p>As if it were that easy. To just deny it from the world. Turning a blind eye to the universe and refusing to acknowledge it. She had been there already. Denial was a bitch, but an integral part of the process.</p><p>Although she had tried to push the intrusive thoughts away, the idea of telling Elliot was reaching closer to the surface. She couldn't block it out, especially not now. Not after seeing how it had affected Fin. Elliot would be much worse. Not that Elliot meant more than Fin, but Elliot was her... well, he was her <em>partner</em>. In his own words, for better or for worse.</p><p>Did that count in sickness and in health too?</p><p>He was an astronomical part of her life. He was her every day and her every night. He was the face across her desk and the arm that caught her when she fell. She could already picture his face, hear how loud his heart would crack in his chest. The air would no doubt escape his lungs faster than he could breathe it in. Would his world crumble too? Or was that just another part of the raw deal? Her world shatters, his doesn't.</p><p>It was heartbreak waiting to happen and she felt more than responsible.</p><p>Suddenly, the newly familiar sensation of forgetting something struck her. Why had she walked into her bedroom? She glanced around the room, growing more frustrated than the previous second. She racked her brain, begging for it to just give her the answer; the stupidly basic question of why the hell she was standing at the foot of her bed, and the inconsequential answer. hadn't she earned that? Just one fucking answer?</p><p>Her fists clenched at her hips, she was tired of forgetting. The voices of the people she had saved were turning into the soft sympathetic whispers of the people she loved. They were spinning around her, overlapping one another.</p><p>Her head whipped around, spotting the bottle on her bedside table. A flare of rage swarmed her veins. Those stupid fucking pills. Those stupid fucking tumors. The stupid fucking memory loss. Before she knew it, her fist gripped the bottle and flung it across the wall and a horrendous roar ripped from her lungs, taking all of her oxygen with it. As the plastic met the plaster, the orange shards of the bottle fell to the floor, clattering along with the dozen violet-hued pills.</p><p>
  <em>"A broken string of pearls drops to the floor at the same time the drops of rain will fall to the ground. But I am not infinite as the pattern repeats."</em>
</p><p>Like fucking pearls.</p><p>The voices of her friends inside of her head became louder as she sunk to her knees, not even trying to conceal the tears that were falling. Vicious sobs errupted from within her, but the swarming sound of disappointment and sympathy only grew.</p><p>Casey looked as if she had gone numb. Cragen had searched for some deeper meaning when she asked for a vacation, as if the answer was in her face somewhere, he just had to look in the right place. Just another piece of Fin had broken off into himself, another fatality of a fraction of his soul. The rest would only get worse. Huang would try to stay professional while hiding his sadness, he was the shrink but she could read him easily enough by now. Munch wouldn't show it but he'd shed a tear behind closed doors where nobody could hear or see. Melinda would be shattered on a different level, knowing the scientific side of what Olivia was up against. Once Cragen knew, he'd feel guilty for not being able to protect her from something like this, as if she were one of his own children.</p><p>Then Elliot.</p><p>God, she wanted to throw up. If she hadn't been clutching her chest with her fist, she could have. Elliot would undoubtedly shatter the rest of her yet-unbroken self. The remainder of the light would go out of his eyes; the light he had worked so hard to keep shining within himself. She knew him, she knew that he'd start to panic and his anger and sadness would coalesce into a volatile mixture. His unpredictability would take over, just as it always did. Would anger win? His fist hitting the ground and shattering it into a thousand pieces? Or would he fall silent, his own tears streaming as all of the words in the English dictionary would suddenly become so far out of reach?</p><p>All while each of them quietly whispered their denial into the silence. <em>"No," </em>But the silence would grow louder while it swallowed her whole. She would break so many people.</p><p>
  <em>"No," "No," "No," "No,"</em>
</p><p>With tears still wet in her eyes, she conjured the strength to crawl over the mess of shredded plastic and pills. One by one, she separated them, careful not to cut herself until her palm held the answer she was looking for. So many answers within each compressed tablet.</p><p>Forgetting, oh how easy it could be if she allowed it. Maybe the memory loss was the only way to burn the image of destruction out of her mind. The tears, the whispers, the shredded souls that she would take with her. <em>Go away.</em></p><p>She made her way back to sitting on the edge of her bed, dropping the fist full of pills on the side table. With one left remaining in her hand, she stopped to stare down at it. Her eyes scanned over the engravings that meant absolutely nothing to her. Someone, somewhere out there knew exactly how the little purple pill worked and had memorized every millisecond of action it would take upon her neurons.</p><p>She didn't want this. No.</p><p>Yes. She did.</p><p>The voices were arguing and she wasn't sure who was winning. She didn't care. The voices of the people she had saved were clashing loudly against the voices of those who had saved her. None of it mattered anymore. She wanted silence.</p><p>She grabbed the glass of water and swallowed it down.</p><p>Her head hit the pillow as she rolled into bed, her splayed auburn hair contrasting with the whiteness of the sheet. The realization had dawned on her, born from never-ending exhaustion and wrenching heartache.</p><p>Maybe, just maybe, forgetting wasn't such a bad thing.</p><p>Forgetting was easy; painless.</p><p>It wasn't bad at all.</p><p>Forgetting would solve everything.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter Nine - Eva</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Old cases had been running through her mind for several days, no rhyme or reason why. Every case she had ever worked involving a child followed her around, but each one started to rise up inside of her like smoke, reuniting her with the low and quiet burning inside of her that came with every child case.</p><p>Maria Recinos. How had a nine-year-old victim manage to catch her off guard?</p><p>"Do you have children, Olivia?" her sweet and innocent little voice asked. A girl trapped in a room, completely emaciated from the lack of food or water, yet she cared enough to ask Olivia about her life. A little girl who had been to hell and back somehow asked her the most important question she had ever been asked in her entire life. She was just a child herself, children didn't usually ask those questions. Maria was special though, and Olivia swore she had felt her breath hitch in her chest when the question was asked.</p><p>"No," she had responded, hearing her heart physically breaking as the words left her lips.</p><p>"Don't you like them?" Maria had asked, sounding almost fearful that the one person on Earth who didn't have a doubt in her mind that she was a real girl in real trouble, might not even like children. She had continued the call despite Munch and Cragen continuously trying to convince her that it was a prank... and the innocence on the other line was so close to being afraid of something that was the least of her problems... whether or not the woman who was about to save her life even liked children.</p><p>"I love them. I would love to have a child." Olivia had answered almost too quickly.</p><p>"You wouldn't send her away, would you? Like my mother sent me?"</p><p>Dear God, no. Every joint that held her ribcage together burned at the thought. She had seen mothers sell their children for a Benjamin and a half a pack of menthol lights. She had seen girls no older than twelve working corners while their parents shot up and wandered off.</p><p>When her own self-consciousness started to take over, she tried to remember that. No matter how bad her genes were, half drunk and half rapist, seeing those children convinced her that she could never ever be that bad of a parent. No matter what, genetics would never have that much say in how she raised a child.</p><p>She loved children. She had been chasing motherhood for much longer than she'd ever hoped to.</p><p>Elliot had never failed to subtly instill his confidence in her over the topic of parenthood. Even when he was an ass who took his children for granted and called her out on their differing opinions about children, he never once made her feel as if she'd be a bad mother. Instead, he'd made eye contact, ice blue against dark brown, and spoke straight from his lungs with a passion she had never seen. <em>"You're gonna make a great mother someday."</em></p><p>The certainty in his voice had always seemed to soothe her like calamine on a burn. It was a big statement coming from a family man such as himself. Sure, his marriage fell apart and he had some problems with his kids. But it was the fiery passion in his heart for his children that spoke for him instead. If Elliot Stabler, the man who would tear apart Hell for his children, believed she could be a good parent, she believed him. She believed only him. Hell, she'd believe him before she'd ever believe herself.</p><p>Those old cases, they were leading her down the yellow brick road, forcing her to finally answer the questions she had been asking herself for ages.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>She feels so far away from herself. It was a feeling she was becoming all too familiar with. </p><p>Her fist was back, knocking on another door. An address forever ingrained into her mind. The doorstep where she saw one of the most disappointing cases come to fruition. She had more important people to make aware of her condition, but this time, she had walked with less of a barrier stopping her. </p><p>It was the first time something felt somewhat right in almost two weeks. </p><p>She waited for a moment, feeling an eternity filling the void of silence until the sound of light footsteps picked up from the other side of the door. </p><p>She felt horrible for doing this; for rehashing the past. But if she were going to do something for herself for once, this was where to start. <em>She</em> was where to start.. </p><p>"Detective... Benson?" a quiet and somewhat shocked voice asked as the door opened. Eva Sintzel, one of the most gut-wrenching victims that Olivia had ever connected to. She hadn't seen her since the cryotank had been returned, devastatingly empty. She'd watch the last bits of color drain from the woman's face as she wordlessly delivered the news. </p><p>The case crossed her mind from time to time, even more so when she couldn't stop thinking about how badly she longed to start a family. All of those people, losing one last shot at everything they've ever wanted. But Eva had always stuck with her mentally. A woman who had been through hell and back. Married to the job and got so caught up in it until the diagnosis of cancer had brought it all to a halt. A round of IVF to freeze her eggs before chemo would destroy the possibility of ever having biological children. All for nothing. </p><p>She'd be lying if she said she hadn't had a nightmare or two about it. </p><p>"Hi, Eva." Olivia gulped, looking away from the woman in front of her, whose eyes were as wide as saucers from confusion. Maybe she hadn't thought it through. Maybe it felt right because everything else in her life felt so wrong. Things she recognized as a comfort were now painful. Places to escape to were becoming places to escape from. If this was a mistake, she really fucking stepped in it. </p><p>"Olivia, it's uh... it's nice to see you. Are you alright?" the softness of the British tone warmed Olivia's skin, and so did the lack of conviction the same voice had once held. </p><p>No. </p><p>No, she wasn't okay. </p><p>Not really. </p><p>She was living in a breach of ethics. Standing on the doorstep of a prior victim of a case she had handled for personal reasons? IAB would have a field day with her if word got out. But somewhere deep within her, a switch had been flicked. She couldn't have cared, even if she tried. She loved her career, but she had finally reached a point where a desire outweighed the job. A point that would be a no-brainer to others, but one in every handful of cops would understand. </p><p>She couldn't be married to the job anymore. </p><p>Olivia audibly exhaled, the situation sitting heavily on her chest. "Uh... I-I guess I don't know. No, no I'm not. I know this is strange, probably extremely unprofessional and downright invasive but I need help and you're the only person I can think of who has experience here, and I just <em>really </em>need to talk to you." </p><p>Her words went a mile a minute until Eva's face dropped. She hadn't needed to spell it out or dance around it. It was the slump in her shoulders, the silent fear in her eyes. Eva knew just by looking at her more than words could ever say. Wordlessly, she opened the door and motioned for Olivia to come in. </p><p>As she sheepishly walked through the door, another hurricane of thoughts begun to fill her head. Everything that felt so right suddenly felt so beyond wrong, she could barely breathe. The thoughts came in different voices, Elliot's, Cragen's, hell, even Tucker's. All of them telling her how she was royally messing up. Ethics were out the window and the world was shifting on its axis because the savior was crying on the victim's shoulder.</p><p>"Can I get you anything?" Eva asked from behind her. "Coffee? Tea? Water?" </p><p>Gracious host. Maybe there wasn't as much bad blood as Olivia had once thought. Even if there were, she knew she deserved it. Accusing someone who had just lost everything of shooting a man in cold blood... thin ice.</p><p>"No, thank you though." she took a few more steps, unaware of which direction to go in. She'd waded in the waters of crossing a line, but she had never swum out so far beyond shore. Eva led her over to the quaint little living room, offering her a chair which she instantly took given that her head was spinning so hard she was ready to faint. </p><p>A thickened moment of silence hung over the two of them as they made themselves comfortable. Hell was freezing over, she was sure of it. There were at least a hundred more equipped people who could help her in New York alone. </p><p>"So," Eva spoke first. "What stage?" she asked as simply as could be. A conversation to be had over finger sandwiches and lemonade, as if they were picking out fucking drapes. </p><p>This was her life now. If she wasn't going to wake up from this like she would from a bad dream, then it was time to break herself into the new and redefined attitude of others who were patients.</p><p>"Stage III invasive ductal carcinoma," she answered, still choking on the words just as she did every single time she said it. </p><p>"I'm so sorry, Olivia. I truly am." Eva responded. For the first time, it was the perfect response. Not in words, no, she had heard the words from several people already. But her tone, it lifted something off of Olivia's chest. She wasn't being looked at as if she were a ticking bomb, but instead, as a human being. Just a human being. Someone who had survived this path already, no demeaning her or throwing an instantaneous pity party for her. The empathy and understanding radiated off of her.</p><p>How could words that were so softly spoken alleviate the alienation she had felt from everyone else? </p><p>"I wanna do the treatment. I'm willing to do whatever they recommend. I just..." her words trailed off with no promise of a follow-up. Instead, her throat locked to fight off the impending tears. Goddammit, hadn't she already cried every tear she had left? She bit through her pursed lips, praying to any God that would listen to just give her the strength to fight off the next crying jag. </p><p>Treatment was stagnant. Most people would've started as soon as possible. Most <em>patients</em>. </p><p>"I just can't... not yet." she finally managed to breathe out. </p><p>It went unspoken as to what she meant, but Eva knew. Probably better than anyone. The woman nodded once, her expression still remaining strong but empathetic. "You can't close a door when your foot is still in the doorway. I understand."</p><p>A small and breathy sob broke from Olivia's chest.  For once, she believed it when someone said they understood. So many people in her life had confused the meaning of understanding and acknowledging. They could only ever acknowledge what she felt, but at least Eva could say that she understood and actually mean it. </p><p>"I'm scared." she cried softly. "I don't know if this is even the right choice for me to make. I mean, I barely know where to start. For Christ's sake, I showed up on your damn doorstep, that's the best I can do for 'knowing where to start'."</p><p>"And you're scared because if you don't do IVF, you'll lose the chance you've been waiting for forever. And that if you do decide to do it, you'll be prolonging your risk, right?" </p><p>Olivia gave the weakest nod she could muster up, her head buried in her hands as her fingers wove through her hair. As she leaned forward against herself, her elbows resting on her knees, she felt a soft and comforting hand reaching for her shoulder. </p><p>Whatever prayer she said didn't work, and the tears fell anyway. Her heart ached so deeply in her chest, it actually managed to scare her. Could emotional pain even have that capacity? To sit so far within her and just throb? She wanted to reach inside of her chest and tear the pain out with her own bare hand. </p><p>She heard a deep and thoughtful sigh from beside her. Nobody would ever be able to give her a straight answer as to what her best path would be. Everyone was unique, and she hated it. She wanted it in black and white, a solid yes or no. Free-falling wasn't her specialty despite how many times she had been forced into it. </p><p>Suddenly, the body next to her was gone and the sound of footsteps echoed through the apartment. Olivia looked up with confusion in her tear eyes, watching as Eva grabbed her purse from the kitchen. She fished out a quarter from the bottom of the bag, bringing it back to the couch with her. "Flip a coin."</p><p>"What?" Olivia asked incredulously. </p><p>Eva's face stayed adamant, handing her the quarter. "Flip it. Heads, you do IVF. Tails, you don't. Go on." </p><p>The small nudge of encouragement was enough to convince her. She exhaled deeply from her chest, flipping the coin against her thumb and catching it against her palm. Her eyes darted over to Eva, a wave of fear crashing into her stomach. No. No way. She couldn't make a decision based on some stupid quarter, even if she did believe in fate and how it works. </p><p>"Look at the quarter," she whispered. </p><p>Olivia fought back another burning round of tears. With shaking hands and more hesitance than ever, she lifted her hand to reveal the results. The silence stayed thick between them as the metal shined against the light.</p><p>"It's uh... it's tails." </p><p>"And you're disappointed, yes?" </p><p>Olivia nodded as she slightly shrunk into her shoulders. </p><p>"There's your answer." Eva gave her a soft smile. "The disappointment is your answer. You made your mind up already, long before you even asked the question. There isn't a flippable quarter or a Magic 8 Ball that can tell you what to do. Only you know what you want and what you think is best, sometimes it just takes a little disappointment of a different outcome to make it apparent." </p><p>The smile she saw on Eva's face was hauntingly similar to faces she had seen on Elliot. The slightly cocky and arrogant grin of when he knew he was proving a point. It took a moment, but Eva's point was settling carefully on her shoulders. "So... I do IVF?" </p><p>"It's not about what you do, it's about what you don't do. Right now, it seems to me that your gut is telling you not to miss out on an opportunity. Don't let the disappointment win. Don't let that chance slip away, Olivia. Even after everything that happened with my eggs, I don't regret it for a moment. In a way, it gives you more to fight for. An incentive. You don't even know who that egg will turn into, but you know that you're gonna fight like hell to see." </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter Ten - Infected</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was frightening how intimately familiar she was becoming with her doctor. Well, one of them. Her oncology specialist, Doctor Keller. He was the only one so far who had the balls to tell her the unbridled truth. Even if it was a truth that didn't sit well within her. She knew, deep down somewhere inside of her, beyond the anger, she was thankful for the bluntness. </p><p>Another cloudy grey cotton gown was on her form, donning patterns of polka dots and triangles. She'd never get used to the scratchy tinge of the fabric, no matter how many times she would need to wear it. </p><p>Her left arm was up in the air as she laid against the exam table. Another day, another ultrasound. Although this time, there was just a little bit more peace of mind. No random nurses and radiologists, just her and the man who would be attempting to save her life. </p><p>She was supposed to be back at work by now. Even if it meant ass duty, her fourteen days were up and she had been expected to return. Until a small problem arose and she was forced to take another — well, she'd find out today how many days it would need to be. </p><p>"You've definitely got an infection, Liv." the doctor commented, waving the gelled wand around the sore area. She tried to hide the wince of pain as the apparatus pressed into her skin. "It's a build-up of fluid. The tumors in the lymph nodes are causing a blockage, and it can't filter out the waste it's supposed to." </p><p>She felt dumb for not paying closer attention. Nobody had told her that she wasn't supposed to be having shooting pains in the affected area. They had described discomfort, and her high tolerance for pain had chalked it up to be nothing. She tried ignoring it, in fact. But when her blood results had come back with a high white cell count, she knew that her team would be adamant in finding the problem. </p><p>He handed her a washcloth to dry away the excess gel on her skin and offered her a hand to sit up. After retrieving everything he needed from the machine, he pulled the rolling stool out from under the exam room desk. She could tell from the look on his face already that he was getting ready to read her the riot act... again. </p><p>For two weeks, his presence had become somewhat like Cragen's. A near authoritative figure to keep her on the right track. He had worked with people of all walks of life, her top-cop intimidation tactics didn't do anything to help her case of protesting whatever it was he would be telling her. He was a kind man and clearly caring, but stern enough to get the message across to someone like her who would need a bullhorn to hear it loud enough to believe it. </p><p>"It's been two weeks, you've been stalling on your treatment plan, Olivia." he sighed, giving her a pointed look from rolling chair he was in. "Most of my patients start chemo within days of their diagnosis and I know you wanted to talk about your options, but the longer we wait, the fewer options there are to even consider." </p><p>Her head rolled against her shoulder, her body language screaming that this was the last thing she wanted to talk about. But, as much as she hated it, he was right. She hated herself for stalling so long, but she had other decisions that needed to be made in the meantime. </p><p>"You were right, y'know," she whispered, her eyes focusing on her feet that dangled off the exam table. </p><p>"Pardon?" </p><p>"You told me there was no point in chasing the past... that my old life wasn't coming back. You were right," she admitted quietly, but finally harnessing enough strength to look him in the eyes. </p><p>"Well," he cleared his throat, clearly thrown off guard by her statement. "I'm glad you see it that way. That's progress. It's all about finding a new normal, even though the new normal may be temporary."</p><p>"You didn't let me finish," she cut in, refusing to let his ego get the best of him just yet. As much as she despised the fact that this man was in her life at all, she did consider him somewhat of a 'friend' of sorts. Enough so that she wasn't afraid to call him on his bullshit from time to time. "I'm not chasing the past anymore. I did some thinking and I realized that it isn't a part of my past that I would choose for myself, so there's no reason to choose it now. Instead, I think it might be time to get started on my future." </p><p>His brows furrowed in confusion. She was definitely one of his more... eccentric patients. Maybe eccentric wasn't the right word. If anything, she was just as blunt as he was. He was starting to consider her just as much of a 'friend' as she considered him – which made it okay for him to consciously accept her as a thorn in his side at times and not feel guilty. "What are you saying?"</p><p>"I need sixty days," she said plainly.</p><p>His eyes shot open and she swore that if he had been drinking something, a perfect spit-take would've occurred. "I'm sorry, what?"</p><p>"Sixty days. I need to postpone treatment for sixty days or less. You were right, my past is in the past, so in order for me to accept that, then I want to be able to choose my future. I'm choosing to pause treatment for now because I'd like to do a round of IVF and retrieve my eggs before its too late." she said matter-of-factly. </p><p>Clearly she had practiced her little speech in the mirror. That, or she was just being nonchalant for the hell of it. She didn't even flinch. She was asking for the impossible with the same demeanor she'd be asking for pepperoni on her pizza. </p><p>"Olivia..." he huffed out a breath in shock, unaware of where to even start. "Olivia, we might be past that point. You're teetering between stage III and stage IV right now. Postponing treatment for that long is just the more opportunity for the cancer to spread."</p><p>She shrugged her shoulders. "If I had waited an extra sixty days before getting my mammogram, would it truly have made a difference? Probably not. In fact, I really only need less than 40 days. Sixty is just being generous for appointments, scheduling, my cycle, and the rest."</p><p>Doctor Keller was becoming more frustrated by the moment, feeling as if she weren't taking this as seriously as he had been trying to get her to. "Okay, maybe you have a point there. But you have to remember, this cancer is in a part of your body that can be severely affected by those types of hormone injections. We're still mapping out your diagnosis and prognosis, we don't know how your body in particular will react to the drugs." </p><p>She paused for a moment, letting the silence hang heavily above them. She'd promised herself going in that no matter what, her stance wouldn't change. This was what she wanted, and to her, it was well worth the risk. "I realized a long time ago that I wanted to be a mother... and I didn't take the steps to become one because I thought I had more time. I'm single, I work long hours, nobody is going to let me adopt. I can't sit around and wait for the universe to get things in order for me because then what happens? This." she pointed at her chest. </p><p>"Olivia," he started to protest. </p><p>"Remove the tumor, or as much of it as you can. Remove the cancerous lymph nodes. That should at least buy enough time to do the IVF before I have to undergo chemo and radiation and lose my chances forever!" she argued. </p><p>"And what makes you think that your body can handle a round of fertility drugs and two invasive surgeries?" the words came out with a near-sarcastic laugh. Although, he wasn't laughing. He was angry. Two weeks in her presence and she had the same effect on him that she had on everybody; she got under his skin. No matter how hard he had tried to distance himself and disassociate with her, she was creeping in. "Olivia, this isn't something to mess around with. I think that you might be forgetting that this isn't a boo-boo. This is a malignant set of tumors and time, as well as exposure, are very important variables here." </p><p>"You have embryologists in your network that you send other patients to see, correct? It would be the fastest way to start the process through referral, and they'd know a little bit more about what methods of fertility treatments are best to work alongside with what I have." Even in pleads, she could barely say the word 'cancer' when referring to herself. </p><p>He could see the pain in her eyes that she was trying to hide behind a stoic and strong expression. He took a long and loud deep breath, rolling his eyes before exhaling. "Let's make a deal. We get the infection under control, and see where to go from there. I don't feel comfortable starting the chemo until the infection is controlled anyway. I will talk to my colleagues and your team, and we'll see what the best route is to take. If that infection doesn't go away, we may need to intervene with surgery anyway." </p><p>Despite the fear of hearing she was bordering the line of requiring surgery, she felt a surge of relief flowing through her. The corner of her lips quirked into the smallest of smiles, but one that spoke of how deeply grateful she was that he was at least trying to hear her out. </p><p>"Thank you."</p><p>He lazily shrugged his shoulders. "I'll see you in three days for a follow-up. I'll call in some antibiotics for the infection. Go home, get some rest. Mandatory three days off of work. You need time to heal."</p><hr/><p>A small bit of her self pity had started to lift. Now that she had the possibility of a light at the end of the tunnel, she was slowly regaining her momentum. Talking to Eva had felt more like an epiphany, rather than asking for advice. The entire situation still felt as if she were driving down a foggy road with a dead headlight, but being able to see at least a foot into her future was better than the two weeks where she saw nothing at all. </p><p>Cragen had become worried when she had told him that she needed a few more days. He wasn't just a friend, he was her superior officer and eventually, he'd need to understand what exactly was happening. So, she had agreed to meet him for lunch to finally rip off the bandaid. Not a single iota of her was looking forward to finally telling him, but she knew that it would feel better to bring one more weight off of her shoulders. </p><p>She swung the door to the Pearl Diner open, spotting the familiar tan trench coat seated in one of the booths. He was hovering over his coffee, his back to the door. From the slump in his shoulders, she could sense his worry. A wave of guilt, or another for that matter, washed over her. If she had been clear-headed, she would've told him the same day she asked for the time off. </p><p>But she didn't, and she had to live with that. </p><p>"Hi, Captain," she spoke softly, sliding into the booth seat across from him. His tired brown eyes perked up just a little when he finally saw her. She knew from the look on his face that he could already see the difference in her. Her eyes had become darker and slightly more sunken in from the weight loss and lack of sleep. Her skin had lost some of its color and glow. She realized the only person who consistently saw her enough to not notice it right away was Casey. Maybe Fin had noticed too and just didn't say anything; but the worry on Cragen's face was discernible. </p><p>"Hi, Liv. How're you doing?" he matched her soft-spoken tone, being careful and gentle with his words. Even though the change in her was noticeable, it was much different than the first night she had come to him. That day, her eyes had been swollen from crying and her voice hoarse and cracking. It was strange to see her, knowing something was wrong, but a different level of wrong compared to the last time. </p><p>Instinctually, she pulled a sugar packet from the side of the table to fidget with. She could hear the granules clicking against the paper sleeve as she pinched it within her fingers. "I don't really know how to answer that." </p><p>She wasn't trying to avoid the question, but she was living about five different degrees of life, all of which were in different states. Some good, some bad, some unthinkable. She was alive, was that good enough of an answer?</p><p>She gulped, trying to find some sort of explanation to tide him over until the words came to her. "Look, Captain, a lot of things in my life are changing right now. I don't mean to keep you in the dark, I just... I'm trying really hard not to lose control over everything in my life. My job is the one thing I had left to protect and I don't want it to change." she heard herself choking up as she spoke, fighting like hell to keep herself together. </p><p>"Liv, just talk to me." he pleaded with saddened eyes. "Whatever it is, I'll do what I can to help you. All of us will. Whatever this is clearly isn't something that two weeks can fix. I mean, are you in trouble or something?" </p><p>He understood grief. Maybe in different aspects. She'd heard the way he spoke about Marge and losing her so tragically. He was always an open book with his addiction struggles. Grief in different ways became so ingrained into his identity, he never tried to hide it. God, if anyone were to understand, it'd be him. </p><p>But he was still somewhat innocent. Just like when Casey was trying to figure out what was wrong. It all came down to them thinking it was something related to their radar. At first, the night she had asked him for her time off, she suspected that he had an inkling of an idea. Maybe that was gone now. She hated the idea that the one person she could rely on to remember that they were merely humans with human problems was becoming more enveloped by the job and its effects.</p><p>Her mouth opened and shut a few times, each time nothing more than an empty and unfulfilling breath coming out. "I'm sick, Don." she breathed, her voice barely above a mumble. The tears sparkled in her eyes, and as soon as they blossomed in his, she was forced to look away. </p><p>He stared at her, dumbstruck. He didn't blink or breathe or even exist for those few moments. He was just a vessel, beating and living, but the thing about understanding grief was how just knowing someone important is experiencing it could make the soul leave the body.</p><p>"No,"</p><p>There was that goddamn word again. She was so sick and tired of hearing it. Every time, she wanted to scream <em>'yes!'</em> at the top of her lungs.</p><p>Yes. She had cancer. It was an ugly and disgusting word that haunted everyone, leaving nobody exempt. Yes, she was sick and she wasn't going to get better for a long time, if ever. Yes, it was happening. Yes. Yes. Yes. </p><p>The word always slipped so easily off of everyone's mouth. As if they could just deny the universe of the truth by saying 'no'. It didn't work like that! She had tried that. God, she had screamed it so loudly it reverberated off the tiles of the shower and back into her eardrums like a haunting echo. There was no saying no, goddamnit!   </p><p>If it were that easy, she would've shouted the word from every rooftop. </p><p>"Liv, I'm so sorry," he whispered, a tear shedding down his cheek. She didn't want to look him in the eyes, fearing that if she did, she would get physically sick. The closest thing she had ever had to a father figure, and even though she knew it wasn't the case, she felt like she was letting him down. All she could do was gently shrug, careful not to completely fall apart from doing so. </p><p>"I don't want to lose my job. I don't want to go on disability. I will ride the desk for the next 5 years if I have to. I can't lose it, Don. It's all I have." she sniffled, dabbing away the sadness with her sleeve. "That's why I wanted to use vacation days. I needed time to figure out what to do. I know IAB or the commissioner or who the fuck ever will put a boot up your ass to get me to leave but please, please don't make me leave. Please, I just ca—"</p><p>"Olivia," he interrupted her, gently grabbing for her forearm. "Take a deep breath," he whispered, hoping it would calm her from the hysterics she was falling into. "Listen to me, okay? We'll make it work. I'll do what I can, as long as it isn't putting your health in jeopardy, because whether you like it or not, <em>that</em> is the top priority. Okay?"</p><p>She nodded, sobbing quietly into her other sleeve. </p><p>"Liv, there's gonna have to be some changes. But, if you think I'm gonna let IAB drag you away, you're just as nuts as they are." they both chuckled through the tears. "Wild horses couldn't drag you away if you weren't ready. As long as you're feeling up to it, and I really mean that your health is going to need to come first, you're welcome in my squad room. Whoever has a problem with it is gonna take it up with me first, alright? Please don't worry about that."</p><p>"Thank you," she sniffled. </p><p>His expression shifted into serious mode. "But I know you, I know how much you like to pretend you're okay when you're not. That's gotta end right now if this is gonna work. From here on out, it needs to be brutal honesty. If at any point that you feel even the slightest bit compromised, then I need you to tell me, and you'll need to remember that <em>nobody</em> is going to judge you for that. But the only way we're gonna get through this on the other side without a big stink from IAB and the commissioner is if you're willing to reevaluate your limits. We all have 'em. You can't be superwoman all the time, Liv. You can't hide your bad days from me or pretend they aren't happening."</p><p>"I got it," she nodded vehemently. </p><p>"And God hear me when I say it, Olivia, if your doctor tells you at any point that it's not safe to work, then we deal with that until you can work again. You have a dedication to this job like no other, but that dedication from here on out is now in second place. Got it?" </p><p>Another burst of sobs errupted from her and she no longer cared who around her was watching or judging. "Thank you, Captain." </p><p>Wordlessly, he patted her arm once again, giving her the unspoken message of care. </p><p>Finally, she ordered a coffee and a light meal, enough to break up the tension and give them a chance to talk about the situation in a way that work wasn't the center of it all. She'd gotten around to explaining what it was she was dealing with and how the treatment plan was looking. It was made apparent that once she was undergoing chemotherapy, working in the precinct was off-limits. She tried to protest but he'd seen the effects of the treatment in friends of his before, and he knew her protests would die out as soon as the chemical was in her veins. </p><p>"Elliot doesn't know yet, does he?" he asked, swallowing a bite of the Reuben sandwich he had ordered. </p><p>She shook her head, using her finger to pick through a plate of french fries. "No. He knows something is wrong. But, I have a gut feeling that he's next on my list to infect with awful news." she mumbled, suddenly losing her appetite. </p><p>"He cares a great deal about you, Liv. It's a rare partnership that you two have. Believe it or not, I understand why you wouldn't want him to know." </p><p>"It's not that I don't want him to know, it's just..." she trailed off, fighting to find the right words, as if there ever would be any. If she let the barrier down just a little, she could be honest. She could let just the tiniest bit of weight off of her shoulders. "I don't know."</p><p>"My AA buddies and I always say that 'admitting it to someone else means admitting it to yourself', which is the hardest part. It makes it real. It takes all of that pent up emotional abuse you inflict on yourself and then it makes you feel guilty when you have to share it. But when you're in the thick of it, you'll never realize how lonely it gets until you let someone in."</p><p>"I know," she mumbled weakly. "If I'm being honest... it feels a lot like how I felt growing up. Y'know, I never wanted to speak up about my mom, it made it real. But there was more to it. You drag those problems around on your shoulders, terrified to shift the tiniest bit of weight onto someone else because you know how painful it is to carry it yourself, you couldn't imagine giving it to someone else, even if they wanted to help. Then time passed and I looked at it in hindsight and by then, I couldn't entirely understand why I didn't ask for help. The memory had sort of dulled out... now, here I am, right back to understanding exactly why I kept my mouth shut." she tried to hide the self-deprecating chuckle that came in under her breath. But he heard it, and he understood it.</p><p>"Liv," he laughed, a sound that quickly pulled her attention. "You've dealt with Elliot's shit for ten years. You never even bat an eye at it either. I know what you're saying, but I also want you to remember that he will always be willing to do the exact same for you."</p><p>With roles reversed, she never would've given it a second thought. He was her best friend, it was only logical. She cared about him; she'd carry every ounce of his pain for him if it meant that he would be given any comfort. But as hard as she tried, she just couldn't apply that logic in return. She knew he would do the same, but it was a matter of whether or not she wanted him to. </p><p>She wouldn't wish this on her worst enemy, let alone the most important person in her life. </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter Eleven - Exposed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Olivia clamped down on her jaw to suppress the groan within her throat. Doctor Keller's fingers had barely touched the surface of the tender tissue when she had nearly jumped out of her seat. Her goal going in was to try to pretend it didn't hurt when really, it was agonizing. The devil on her shoulder told her that if she displayed the real pain she felt, her goal of being able to do the IVF cycle would become compromised. She was skating on thin ice as it was, she didn't want to give him any more of a reason to suggest against the procedure. But, alas, the pain outnumbered her and she caved.</p><p>"Olivia," he started, his voice already showing his disappointment.</p><p>"It's fine. Your fingers are just cold," she lied.</p><p>"My fingers aren't cold, and your infection is getting worse. We should've seen some improvement by now." he cocked his eyebrow the same damn way Elliot did when he knew he was right.</p><p>She missed Elliot. Admitting that felt like saying the Lord's name in vain. She had been the one who had pushed him as far away as possible. Either to avoid the broken look in his eyes or to protect him from the devastation of the storm, she wasn't sure yet.</p><p>She missed his mannerisms.</p><p>"Can't we just..." she stopped to close her eyes and give a deep exhale. "I don't know. Raise the dose of the antibiotics? It's only been three days, how much could the antibiotics really have done to help in three days?"</p><p>Deception and deflection weren't her strong suits. Usually, it was Elliot's voice in her head telling her to do the right thing; fueling her instincts. At this point, her instincts were far gone enough to put her own health in jeopardy.</p><p>She missed her instincts. The feeling of trusting her gut with whatever decision she made. He was the one who had instilled most trust in her potentially wild plans and actions. It took being without him for her to realize that he was her gut. He was the basis of her instincts and her faith in her choices.</p><p>He had her six. Always.</p><p>Why did it always have to be his voice in her head when she was in pain? Her conscience's voice had shifted, mimicking that of her partner's. He'd always held her when she was in danger or in pain. He caught her when she fell and picked her back up. She could hold her own hand if she truly needed to, but she couldn't stop herself from associating him with the comfort for her pain. She needed his instinct now more than ever, or better yet, for her own to return.</p><p>The battle hadn't even started and she was already losing herself.</p><p>"I really think we're pushing it here, Olivia." Keller's voice broke her out of her reverie, disappointing her with the hopeless look on his face. He was a damn doctor, wasn't he supposed to be better at hiding that? "You're on pretty strong antibiotics as it is. We have to start looking at our options."</p><p>"No," she blurted out, her bottom lip quivering in fear. "No. Can't you switch the antibiotics? Or, or just wait and see for a few more days?" her words came out in a stumble, and even she knew she was reaching. The pain was only getting worse, but she hated being backed into a corner.</p><p>"At this rate, the infection is spreading faster than we can control it and you won't have a few more days to think about it without this becoming something irreversible. I'm honestly worried, with an infection in your arm, it's very easy for it to spread to your heart. Honestly, I'd prefer to admit you right now but I'm assuming you'd refuse."</p><p>She saw the worry in his eyes, filling the atmosphere with an even thicker tension. Her own eyes began to water and burn as she pleaded with him. "Isn't there anything else we can do? <em>Anything?</em> If I have to have surgery, that'll push back the hormones and we'll just be prolonging chemo even further."</p><p>He took a moment, rolling back the small stool he sat on and folded his hands in his lap. She took it as a decent sign. Two weeks and she was finally starting to understand his mannerisms and what they meant. "You know I have to advise against it..."</p><p>
  <em>"But?"</em>
</p><p>"But... if I send you from here straight to the lab, we can try to get a better idea of what's going on. I want to make sure you're not becoming septic before we decide whether or not to try different antibiotics or go another route."</p><p>Despite his visible apprehension, she felt just a little bit more relieved knowing that some choices were still possibly on the table. Finally, she could exhale a little bit of the crippling fear. She knew she wasn't out of the woods yet, and that it would ignorant of her to pretend otherwise. But with everything around crumbling as it was, she couldn't really bring herself to hate the fact that she was reaching for something left that she had control over.</p><p>"Thank you," she whispered weakly, her eyes following him as he went to type up the lab script. She felt bad for pushing him as hard as she was. She was fighting not just against something, but for something. And although it wasn't something most could see, it was her future. She could see it, that was all that mattered.</p><p>"You can go ahead and pick up your paperwork at the front desk, then go straight to the lab. Then, and I can not stress this enough, go home and rest, Olivia. If you start getting chills, running a fever, numbness, or start having dizzy spells, you need to come back in right away, alright?"</p><p>Somewhere deep inside of her, she wanted to smile at him. The way he looked at her over his glasses, he reminded her of Cragen and his fatherly-yet-professional wordless orders. It hadn't taken her long to understand Doctor Keller's mannerisms, and she knew that beyond the disappointment, he liked her perseverance.</p><p>She understood, in some odd way. He had worked with a lot of patients, she had worked with a lot of victims. The ones who refused to give up, the ones who fought the fight they didn't deserve, they always stuck with the soul. Although, she never thought she'd be on the other side.</p><p>Making her way out of the office had become less painful as time went on. That in itself was strangely painful. Knowing that the walls didn't haunt her as much as they once did. She remembered what life had become like after her second year in her unit. Suddenly, the cases didn't leave her to throw up in the nearest bush and attempting to cope with crippling nightmares. As soon as she had realized that, she wondered if she would always be desensitized to the horrors. Now, she was left to wonder if it would be the same with the cancer institute that she was spending more time at than her job.</p><p>
  <em>Cancer institute.</em>
</p><p>The sickly sterile smell might not have bothered her anymore, but the words still did.</p><p>In some way, she wanted them to bother her. If she ever became desensitized to the idea that she was fighting this battle, she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to handle that. In her mind, this was all temporary. And, maybe it was. She didn't know yet, she wasn't on the other side of the battle, no matter how desperately she wanted to be.</p><p>She was recognizing faces faster and faster. The maze of the hallway that was once a puzzle was now a second nature.</p><p>She didn't want to look at them. She wanted to walk with her head down and refuse to accept the fact that she knew their names. They needed to be strangers. It wasn't about being unfriendly, it was about survival. If she allowed herself to drown in the new world that was swallowing her up, she'd never see the light of day again. She would slowly suffocate until there was no light at the end of the tunnel.</p><p>She'd learned not to trust that light anyway. Usually, the light at the end of the tunnel was the headlight of a train. She wasn't sure what to rely on. Uncharted waters always did scare the life out of her, and now, she was neck-deep in them.</p><p>Was she supposed to be cold? Was that the answer to surviving this? She didn't want to know any of these people. She didn't want to know that Jenny the nurse only had a rock on her finger because her baby daddy went into the military and that was the only way they could live together. She didn't want to know that Colleen the secretary had 3 grandkids, four if you count the one on the way. She didn't want to know that the man who was always the next appointment after hers was a father of five who had a cabin near the Finger Lakes.</p><p>She could only survive if she had absolutely no clue what sort of world it was that she was wandering in. No names, no faces, no words that only those from the waiting room would understand. No attachment.</p><p>God, please no attachment.</p><p>With her head still hanging low, she managed to find her way to the reception area, retrieving her script for her lab work.</p><p>Walking through the halls and down towards the lab, she felt the rise of adrenaline in her system. Too many faces, too many people lining the halls beside her. She couldn't look down without reason, her mind told her. It would be rude. She didn't look sick yet, she didn't want anyone to think badly of her given that she looked like an average healthy woman with her head down as she walked through an oncology hospital.</p><p>She quickly fished her phone out of her purse as she got closer to the lab. She didn't want to admit that she already knew where in the hospital it was located. She knew it like the back of her hand already.</p><p>Scrolling through the plethora of unanswered texts, she managed to find Casey's name. She needed a distraction; anything to stop the oncoming panic attack in its tracks.</p><p>Lunch.</p><p>Lunch would be perfect. She could easily spend the rest of the short time she had to be in the hospital thinking about where they'd go and what she would get. Distraction was the name of the game.</p><p>
  <em>To Casey: Wanna grab a bite? I should be done with my appointment in a little bit. My treat.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>From Casey: God, yes. I'm starving.</em>
</p><p>To her surprise, it wasn't the confirmation of plans that calmed her down. It was the needle that had punctured her skin. It sounded crazy and almost masochistic, finding relief in a needle being shoved into a wound that hadn't healed yet from the last time. It was always that way, ever since she was a kid. The sudden cut of the anxiety, the anticipated event finishing, and the surge of adrenaline that came with knowing she could finally breathe again without panicking. Without suffocating.</p><p>The needle was in, there was no more waiting, and she no longer had to face what was making her heart race to begin with.</p><p>She thanked the nurse and grabbed her bag, pressing tighter against the fresh bandaid on her arm. Silently, she thanked God that the entrance was near the lab and she didn't have to walk down the halls that horrified her anymore. She practically ran towards the front exit, yearning for the feeling of dewy fresh air.</p><p>But when her foot stepped out from the front door and her eyes scanned the street in front of her, the relief left. Her body stilled in a near shiver, her eyes blowing wide and her jaw slowly falling. The panic attack she had averted was back ten-fold.</p><p>It wasn't supposed to happen like this.</p><p>Her eyes locked with his and she knew it was over.</p><p>Her breath left in the softest whisper she could conjure.</p><p>"Elliot"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter Twelve - Shattered</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He saw her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took her a moment, a solitary second where the universe hadn't come crashing down yet. Then, the moment was over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And she saw him too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing in the dead center of the busiest city in the country, the world had somehow managed to slow down. The yellow strings of taxis that hurried through the streets were gone. The never ending noise of the bustling concrete jungle went as silent as could be. One finite moment of her eyes connecting with his, an entire street across from each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had finally found the needle in the haystack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The end of the constant questioning of where the hell was she. All of it was answered in a split second, probably the only question that could be answered from where her feet were planted on the ground. He recognized the building, the unmissable skyscraper with the unique orange detailing around it. His children had asked him about that building once, Sloan Kettering Memorial. It had taken the wind out of his sails when their tiny voices asked such an innocent question with a horrific answer.</span>
  <em>
    <span> 'That's a place where people go when they get really sick. Not like — not like a cold. But when they're really sick and they need to see special doctors.'</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He had never sped away so fast before. He'd always struggled with keeping </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> world away from his children, and it was even more of a struggle to keep the </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> world away from his children as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But here it was... those two worlds crashing and coalescing together. All in a single glance. Their own personal Chernobyl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched her rise and fall in that moment. The struggled inhale she had taken when she realized what had just happened, and the heavy exhale with her eyes fighting to stay open when she realized there was no going back either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything crumbled without her permission.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She'd sat and wondered for two weeks what his reaction would be, how he would find out, or how she'd have to tell him. She'd played every scenario in her mind on repeat until it was ingrained into her memory. She'd practiced her speeches, preparing an attempt to control the moment when the time came. So many words she had decided on... or better yet, failed to decide on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there were no words at all. Mere yards away from each other, four lanes of traffic separating them, there was no need for words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Disappointment. Her jawbone tensed but her brow bone relaxed; the face of numbness. That was the ultimate emotion it boiled down to. Nothing else in the air between them but exhaust fumes and palpable disappointment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had mastered the art of having wordless conversations with each other. Every eye twitch and glance, their own personal dictionaries made for each other. The rest of the world was deaf to their language. This time, there was nothing to be said, or not said. There was no descriptive expression that could somehow add up to everything they both felt as the world around them paused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They'd both managed to feel just as blank as their expressions. Inside and out became nothing but null and void.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time ever, he couldn't read her. Something within them and their partnership, some invisible barrier had suddenly cracked. Whether it was a barrier that was between them or containing them together, he wasn't sure. But he could feel its metaphorical cracks beginning to grow. For so long, they had lived within their own four walls together, a small slice of the world just for themselves. Maybe that was what was breaking apart. Was it a secret so big that she had kept from him enough to shatter the foundation of their relationship? He felt betrayed, but his mind was moving so slowly that he didn't have time to process the fact that he wasn't allowed to be angry at her. He couldn't. Not because she was sick, not because of any of that. But instead, because it wasn't his to know. He wasn't entitled to know anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he couldn't hear anything else over the deception he felt. Not his conscience, not his morals, not even the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took a moment for him to remember why he was standing there in the first place. A case he was working in one of the neighboring buildings. It began flooding back to him, he was supposed to be checking an alibi with Fin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked over at his temporary partner, realizing that he too had seen Olivia across the street.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But his expression was different. Elliot could see it clear as day. The way Fin's lips pursed and his head tilted with a deep sigh. He was already trying to do damage control before he could even speak to Elliot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"C'mon, man. She's your partner, you've—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The anger rushing through his veins forced him to interrupt. "You knew?" Elliot roared, taking a jagged step backwards. It wasn't that hard for him to put the pieces together. Fin wasn't surprised, he wasn't asking questions. The destruction had already settled for him, while an earthquake stirred for Elliot. "You fucking knew?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fin stepped forward, putting a defensive hand up. "It wasn't my place to say anything."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elliot's eyes only grew wider with fury. "It wasn't yo— Don't you dare fuck with me like that! She told </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> first? How long have you known?" his face became beet red, a surge of rageful tears threatening to fall from his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fin opened and closed his mouth before his eyes fell silently towards the ground. Elliot's eyes darted back across the street and even from the distance, he could see the gentle tears streaming down Olivia's cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She—" his breath collapsed as he tried to speak. "She's sick... isn't she?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fin didn't have time to respond as Elliot turned on his heel to give Olivia one last longing stare before walking away. He wasn't exactly sure what he was walking towards or away from. Fin could deal with the case, not that he really cared about the case right now. Or anything, for that matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to punch something. He wanted to feel the anger flow through him as his fists conjured the rage to bend the unbendable. He needed the scratch marks, the cuts against his knuckles to distract him from the pain he felt inside of himself. He would rather crumble every bone in his body than feel the destruction of his heart within his chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her sobs hadn't stopped the entire way home. She had somehow managed to quiet herself down for the duration of the cab ride back to her apartment, but as soon as the yellow door shut behind her, the façade cracked and she began gasping for air again. After that, the trek from her apartment lobby to her front door was a blur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stumbled into her home, her fists coming down in a pound against the granite countertops.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn't want him to find out. Not like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But as soon as he did, she felt the betrayal. It became clear so fast that she didn't have time to manage the oncoming storm of emotions she felt. She knew it would hurt when he found out but she could have never imagined the pain it would inflict upon herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Pick up, pick up, pick up." she choked out as she paced around her kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time in weeks, she had been the one to call him. And she had been the one on the other end of the ignored call.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You've reached Elliot, leave a message after the beep."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>God damnit! Her body was going into auto-pilot, pressing 'redial' just as she always did when he didn't answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hurt him. She dug a wound in him so she wouldn't be the only one in pain. She had done the one thing that she had desperately tried avoiding from the start; hurting him. She didn't want to hurt him, not consciously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voicemail beeped again, her grip on her phone becoming tighter as she continued to pace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Elliot, call me back! Now!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Subconsciously, she wanted everyone to hurt. She didn't want to be alone. She alienated everyone from knowing why she was in pain, and in return, made them hurt as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn't mean to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She never would.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn't that kind of person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or maybe she was.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You've reached Elliot..."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn't know herself anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She saw the looks in their eyes. Casey, Fin, Cragen. They were in pain when they knew what she was going through, but they hurt worse when she kept them in the dark. Maybe on different levels. The pain of knowing was a different pain of not knowing, they weren't comparable.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"leave a message after the beep."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt cowardly. Her own reasons for hiding her health were no longer clear to her. Everything became blurred so fast, she had to be dreaming. Her eyes squeezed shut, another several set of steps around the floor of her apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wanted to go home. She was home. But her instinct was to think of how badly she wanted to go home. Where was home? Where was the place she was desperately longing to be? Her apartment felt like just another bunch of bleak white walls. There was no safe place anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nowhere to run.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nowhere to hide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Elliot, answer the damn phone!"</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Redial.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She brought this on herself. Maybe not the cancer, maybe not the unintended emotions, but some part of her must have known what she was doing. Tunnel vision was setting in and there was no point in fighting it off. Why had she done this to him? Why had she done this to herself?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Please... please just let me explain."</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Redial.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She could think of a million times he had kept something from her. His marriage dissolving, his marriage reuniting, and the final break of his marriage. But he had never kept it from her with the intention of hurting her. She wasn't even a stake in any of it, just an innocent bystander in his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Did she want to hurt him? She couldn't answer that anymore. Yesterday, the day before, she would've said 'no'. She would've said that her secret being kept was a way to protect him. But maybe that was bullshit. A lie to make herself feel better about what could possibly be the actual truth. The truth she didn't want to face. Maybe, some part of her knew how badly it would sting when he found out she'd kept it from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hurt people hurt people.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You've reached Elliot..."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>If she heard that one more time she would throw the damn phone across the room, let it splinter into a million pieces of broken glass. Her knees were so close to giving out, she couldn't feel them anymore. Her hands threaded through her hair, anxiously tangling the strands.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I'm sorry, the person you are trying to reach has a full voicemail box."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her fingers typed faster than she'd ever typed before. Text after text, each time alerting her with a whooshing sound. She waited and waited to see if he'd read any of them, or if his phone was even on anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Please try again later."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She hated losing control. She hated losing control more than almost anything else. Every time she had lost control, her life had spiraled. The one thing she hated more than losing control was the simple idea of ever losing him — especially due to her own actions. If she tried hard enough, she could go back to the moment she sat in the MRI machine, drowning in pity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could say the only reason she kept this secret from him was to protect him. It would be a lie. Of course, part of her wanted to protect him, she always would. But she had kept it from him so she could drown a little deeper. That was the only way to keep from capitulating under his disapproving gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn't worth it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The few more moments she could have of retaining her own self pity wasn't worth the potential loss of her friendship and partnership. Her world, if she were being honest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Olivia Benson that he knew would never pity herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But how much god damn pain did she have to go through before she just wasn't that Olivia anymore?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few moments, that was all she wanted... and she would pay the price.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She already was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thirty minutes of the tables being turned, of him ignoring her, and she was crumbling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She told herself she deserved it. She had done it to him for weeks. She'd left him in the dark, no rhyme or reason of explanation. She'd tossed aside their code of honesty, one of the most integral pieces of their partnership. How many times had he stood in her exact same shoes, pacing his apartment while trying to reach her?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Intentions were gone. Maybe she'd never understand the layers of intent behind her actions. She wanted to protect him. She wanted to hurt him and everyone else who didn't hurt as bad as she did. She wanted to wallow. She wanted to be free from the shackles of everyone else's pity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wanted too damn much. Every point of what she wanted was contradictory to the next. Protecting him and hurting him. Pitying herself and refusing other's pity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wanted too damn much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tunnel vision only worsened as her fists gripped the edge of the countertops again. She wanted to scream. Her mouth opened but she wasn't sure if anything was coming out. She couldn't hear any of the hoarse cries she was attempting to force out. She couldn't see, she couldn't hear, but somehow, she felt every cell of her body shaking in distress.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The emotional pain was drowning out the shooting aches within her arm. She couldn't even begin to think of her arm or she would absolutely have a breakdown... well, maybe it was a little too late. But there was no point in adding fuel to the fire if it would only create more cracks in her sanity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before she had more time to spiral, she shot her head up at the sound of a knock on her door.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter Thirteen - Unmasked</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was the first time that she had stood less than a few inches away from him in what felt like an eternity. His eyes were just as red and swollen from the tears as hers were. She wanted to crumble. Her open jaw shivered from the threat of another sob breaking free.</p><p>"You lied to me," he bit out the venom-laced words slowly and carefully.</p><p>"I didn't lie to you," her voice was weak, barely above a whisper. She tried to fight back but within a second, he was inside of her apartment, his voice already louder than the moments previous.</p><p>"You lied to me, Olivia!" he cried out. His hand lifted as if he were going to run it through his buzzed hair, but then fell back down to his side. "You said —" he stopped, biting his lip and closing his eyes to fight off the oncoming tears. His hand rose again, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "You said you were fine,"</p><p>She could hear the drop of an octave in his cracking voice. All she could do was stand and watch the hurt rain over him. It broke her, hearing how he was practically pleading with her. She'd lied, she knew it. The guilt wasn't absent, not this time.</p><p>"Like you haven't lied to me before,"</p><p>It was a low blow, and she knew it.</p><p>His eyes shot open wide, staring at her in disbelief. "Are you fucking kidding me? Not with something as serious as this! You told me you were fine and I believed you!"</p><p>"This isn't about you, Elliot." she warned. Even in her own tone, she could hear the way her pitch rose. It was like lightning striking the air before the rain even hit the ground; this was the tip of her iceberg.</p><p>"How could you not tell me, Olivia!" he roared. "We've been partners for ten fucking years! How could you keep something like this from me? What is it? Do you just not trust me? You can tell everyone except for me?"</p><p>"You know it isn't like that!" she shot back.</p><p>"Then what is it then?!" his voice boomed as he took an angry step towards her. She stood her ground, her chest rising and falling with harder breaths. Stepping back meant letting him win, and this wasn't a fight she wanted to lose. "Huh? What is it?"</p><p>She bit her lip as the tears fell down her cheeks. She knew he wasn't as angry as he was hurt. His hurt came out as anger, it wasn't a surprise to her. Deep down, she had known this was going to happen. The longer she prolonged telling him, the harder the outcome would be.</p><p>But it broke her heart to see him just as shattered as she was.</p><p>So, she stood. She took the verbal lashing that she knew was coming. She wasn't afraid of him, and he had never given her a reason to be. He'd yell circles around her and that's as far as he'd go, so she had no choice but to let him.</p><p>"Say the words, Olivia." he stepped closer, his volume dropping once again. There was a numbness, she could hear it. He was bracing himself for the downfall.</p><p>She stayed as still as a statue, trying to hold back the shutter she felt as he moved another step. She kept every muscle in her body as taut and defensive as could be.</p><p>"Say. The. Words." he ground out, his voice lethally quiet. He was toe to toe with her, barely an inch between the two of them. She could feel the heat of his anger radiating from him, filling the air with painful electricity.</p><p>In hospitals, doctors were required to explicitly tell the loved ones if a patient died. They had to say the words, making sure there was no confusion. The person they loved was gone, they weren't coming back.</p><p>He was forcing her to not only admit it to him, but to herself as well.</p><p>"Cancer," she whispered, her regret-ridden eyes finally looking up to meet his. "I have cancer."</p><p>He turned away, running both of his hands against his head. Was that it? Was that what he wanted to hear so damn badly? It wasn't supposed to be this way.</p><p>She wants to fall to her knees but she can no longer feel her feet planted on the ground. Maybe it was the room or maybe it was the coldness of his words, she isn't sure. All she knows is that she's shivering, chilled to the bone. But it doesn't make sense because she can feel the sweat collecting on her brow.</p><p>Her hands reach behind her, carefully feeling for the wall to brace herself against. Once her fingertips reach the drywall she's able to shift some of the weight off of her lower body.</p><p>His silence is paralyzing. She knows he isn't speaking because as he stands facing away from her, he is crying. Silent sobs into his hands that if she didn't know him well enough, she wouldn't have even recognized that it was actual crying.</p><p>She knows that he cried the entire way over to her apartment, just barely pulling himself together as he reached her door. She knows how hard he fought it off until the dam broke and it was out of his control.</p><p>Elliot Stabler did not cry in front of her.</p><p>But partners didn't lie to each other and friends weren't supposed to become potentially terminally ill either. So, there was no saying what could happen next.</p><p>She knew that if he was angry about this, he'd be even angrier if she told him the entire truth. The second wave, cresting above him without his knowledge. If he was cracking now, then she wasn't done. She still had to break him.</p><p>Her punishment brought on herself.</p><p>The room spun faster, her breathing coming in shallow puffs. The pain in her arm was non-existent compared to the pain in her chest. The agonizing weight of grief and regret that sat like bricks on her sternum.</p><p>She had to do what she had failed to do the first time. She had to rip the band-aid off.</p><p>So, she stared at the back of him for a moment, memorizing every aspect of how he stood and sounded and smelled and looked like. She would lose him. Rarely did she ever know beforehand to ingrain a moment into her mind. But she knew she would lose him and she wanted one last glance.</p><p>"I'm not doing chemo yet." she broke the silence, her voice just barely audible above the ringing in both of their ears.</p><p>He stopped. The pacing, the sobbing into his palms, the breaths that escaped his chest. He stopped entirely. The world had stopped.</p><p>She closed her eyes. The calm before the storm.</p><p>Her face was just as numb as her legs and the shaking continued despite the heated air of the apartment.</p><p>The moment was too strong for her to handle.</p><p>He turned carefully on his heel, the force of his movement sending a burst of cold air in her direction. The eyes staring back at her were more lifeless than they had been even just a few moments previous. "What?" he breathed out, the word sounding soft and stunned.</p><p>Her glazed eyes met his, lifeless meeting lifeless. Her arms were folded over her chest, her only defense against the shivers that were quickly becoming stronger. "I postponed treatment. Sixty days or less."</p><p>She could read nothing off of him except the fact that he was purely baffled. His jaw had fallen slightly, his brows furrowing with confusion. She could see that he was trying to run all of the possibilities through his mind as to why she would do such a thing, and he was coming up empty.</p><p>She knew that he wouldn't be able to ask her why without becoming angry or falling apart entirely. He was waiting, wordlessly, for her to explain.</p><p>Her tongue gently ran over her lower lip, a surefire way to buy herself at least three more seconds to come up with an explanation. She tried to speak but all but an empty puff of air came out.</p><p>"I need —" she hesitated. No. That wasn't right. "I thought about it... and I've decided that I've waited too long to do the things I've wanted to do for a while. My time is up, this is my last chance."</p><p>That only left him more confused. "Wh-what does that even mean? What good could possibly come from you waiting?" the anger was coming back, not as strongly though. It was quietly waiting for her to say one wrong word before it could come back again.</p><p>"I'm doing IVF first. One round, an egg retrieval." she'd managed to get the words out as calmly as possible. Maybe it was because she was so suddenly exhausted from the room spinning that she just wanted this to be over with. "The minute I do chemo, I lose my chance at having a family of my own. I've waited long enough."</p><p>She saw him as he took in an infuriated breath. His jaw fell and his head shook but only sputters of words came out. She waited, quietly and numb for his retaliation. He wouldn't change her mind, not even if he tried. And he would, if she knew him. He'd never understand. Ten years in their unit and his mind had changed about a lot of things, but his privilege of having a family always shined brighter than the facts around him.</p><p>"This— this is a mistake," he grit out, pointing angrily between the two of them. His accent always came out thicker in his anger and she could hear it. Even in the midst of an argument, she couldn't help but wonder if it was a trait he had inherited from his father. All that rage.</p><p>"You don't get to make that decisi—"</p><p>"This is a mistake!" he interrupted, louder than before. She felt so small under the echoes of his voice that reverberated between the walls. He paced around again, and all she could do was hold herself as she fought back the next round of tears. He'd regret this, she knew him. He'd go home, replay the words he said in his head and then realize he acted in the moment. That's what he does.</p><p>But something inside of her was so fucking exhausted from that. Standing, taking his anger-fueled words and trying not to let them hit her like bullets. Two and a half weeks and suddenly a lot of regrets were becoming clear. She didn't want to stand there and regret speaking up for herself.</p><p>"You have no fucking clue what it's like," she laughed under her breath, her teeth chattering from the chills in her body. He spun around as soon as he heard her chuckle. His glare fed straight into her eyes, blazing with anger and hurt.</p><p>The dizziness washed over her again, and with a gulp she tried to battle it off. "You... have no clue." she took a weak step forward, trying her best to intimidate him. "<em>You</em> have never had to lay in bed at night and wonder if you're going to wake up in the morning. <em>You</em> have never had to hear someone tell you that you may not live to see your next birthday. <em>You</em> have never had to want for anything, Elliot. How dare you stand in front of me and tell me how to dictate my life.</p><p>He stared at her in disbelief. Even beneath the paler skin and weaker stature, she was still the spitfire who wasn't going to back down — no matter how terrified he was at the thought of her killing herself over a lost dream.</p><p>She managed to take a few more steps closer, once again standing toe to toe with him. "I am sorry that I didn't tell you sooner, but seeing how you're reacting, maybe it was for the best. Clearly you're aren't the friend I thought you were since you can't support me when I need you the most."</p><p>He kept his eyes glued to hers, feeling the crackle in the atmosphere around them. His heart was breaking just as fast as hers was. He watched her breathing come faster, as if just her few words had exhausted her lungs like a five mile run.</p><p>His voice came shallow and empty. "You're killing yourself."</p><p>"GET OUT!" she roared, using every ounce of strength she was fighting to maintain. "Go! Get the hell out!" she sobbed, weakly pounding her fists into his chest. He tried to grab her wrists as he lost the battle against his own sobs. She managed to break away from his hold and pushed him as close to the door as possible. The tears rained down her cheeks as her screams turned into weak and silent cries.</p><p>In a blur of motions, the door slammed and she fell against it, allowing the weakness to seep in as she slid down to the floor. The struggle for oxygen only got harder as the cries came on more vigorously. Her fists pounded against the floor before her muscles were physically incapable of moving.</p><p>Every physical pain she had tried to ignore came on with the force of a wildfire. The shivering tremors raked through her body, her skin burned one moment and froze the next. She could feel the sweat from her forehead coalescing with the remainder of her tears. The grief of the moment had dulled out the last of Doctor Keller's warnings and as soon as she felt herself losing the battle of exhaustion, she'd realized her phone was across the room.</p><p>Fighting it off wasn't an option.</p><p>For once, it wasn't hard to give into it.</p><p>She just wanted to sleep.</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter Fourteen - Dreamer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She knew she was dreaming. She had to be. The air was too crisp, the city too quiet. At first glance, her focus was pulled to the beautiful contrast of the bright blue sky and the vibrant green trees. Her feet were planted firmly on the dewy grass, each blade against her bare skin. She carefully reached her hands out in front of herself, watching the marks of scarred skin fade back to her original complexion.</p><p>
  <em>"You're dreaming, Olivia."</em>
</p><p>She ignored the voice, continuing to take in her surroundings.</p><p>The thin white gown on her body flowed with the breeze, gently wrapping around her legs as the wind blew. Suddenly, she was struck with the sound of music coming a few yards from behind her. It was drifting through the atmosphere like a lullaby to her tired ears. She felt herself move in slow motion, spinning her bare heel against the dampened ground. Her eyes squinted, trying to focus the vision that was becoming obstructed by an auburn strand of her hair.</p><p>She gulped as soon as she was facing the opposite direction. Rows of stone monuments lined parallel with each other, leading a pathway to a crowd of navy blue uniforms and black dress clothes. Rows of chairs were planted in the grass, leaving a small aisle pointing to a statuesque man standing with his legs spread and his arms behind his back. One by one, almost in sync, each standing body took their designated seats, all except for the man.</p><p>
  <em>"It's just a dream."</em>
</p><p>The voice was replaced with the sound of her heart drumming loudly in her ears. She had experienced reoccurring or even haunting dreams, but never in a graveyard. She hated graveyards and always had. Too cold, too heartbroken. Any chance she got, she turned away from them. But a whisper that came as softly as the wind told her to take a step, move closer. The band grew louder, instrumental music with violins and trumpets and other beautiful instruments filling the air. She focused on the pattern of her breathing, each inhale powering another slow step closer.</p><p>Directly ahead of her stood the man, unwavering in his stance. His head was hanging low, but all she could see was the back of the familiar blue uniform. As the wind blew harder, more strands of her rust-colored hair covered her sight. Slowly, her hand rose to shield above her eyes from the sunlight beaming directly in front of her. He looked... angelic.</p><p>
  <em>"Dreams can't hurt you."</em>
</p><p>The closer she got to the rows of seated guests, the harder her heart began to pound. Her dress skimmed along the grass as she finally reached the chairs furthest away from the man. Under the rhythm of the music was the faint sounds of sniffles and cries. The symphonic beat began to pick up faster, goading her on to pick up her pace and to continue stepping forward.</p><p>Her head turned slowly as she walked up the aisle, spotting the tearful faces from the occupied seats. Some familiar, some completely strange. Gold and silver badges glimmered against the sun, shining brightly into her eyes in tandem with the sun. The more rows she passed, the more familiar the faces became. Her heart was reaching well above the slow-paced tempo of the music that accompanied it.</p><p>She stared at the man again, trying to decipher why he looked so familiar. She knew the stance, the legs spread apart at shoulder-width. She knew the sandy-blond, almost colorless hair of the buzzcut on his head. The way his arms were behind his back, pushing his chest forward.</p><p>
  <em>"Or maybe dreams actually can hurt you."</em>
</p><p>Even as she made her way down the clear aisle, none of the heads turned. No eyes connected with hers and followed. They all just remained the same, heartbroken and grieving, but unaware of her presence. She wanted to scream; to yell until they all turned their heads to see her. Her face contorted into confusion. Why couldn't they see her?</p><p>Her stomach dropped as she finally reached the end of the aisle, less than two feet away from the man who stood as strong as stone. She turned her head again, feeling suddenly overcome with nausea as she saw the faces of her friends.</p><p>Casey was to the left, crying as she dabbed her shed mascara, leaving streaking stains of black on a white handkerchief. Alex was beside her, one hand comforting Casey by patting her back and the other wiping away her own tears. She turned her head to the other side. Fin's shoulders were just as tense as his jaw, his eyes suddenly squeezing shut. Munch was next to him, his attention dropping to his lap as he tried to hide a sniffle. Melinda was allowing her tears to fall without bothering to clear them from her skin. Huang, seated next to her, furrowed brows and sad eyes that spoke louder than any words ever could. Cragen was at the front, his wide brown eyes looking a hundred years older than they had the day before.</p><p>She couldn't breathe. Why was her chest so tight? Even with the breeze, she couldn't catch her breath.</p><p>More familiar faces became clear to her, falling together like puzzle pieces. Kathleen was sobbing quietly with her head on her brother's shoulder. Jeffries and Cassidy appeared next to each other, both barely holding their own. Dana Lewis and Dean Porter were behind them, along with Simon and his children. The faces became clearer faster than she could breathe. Maureen, Lizzie, Kathy, Trevor Langan, Elizabeth Donnelly, Chester Lake, Jack McCoy, Ryan O'Halloran, Ruben Morales, Rebecca Hendrix, Judy Siper, Sister Peg, Arthur Branch, Barry Murdock, Lena Petrovski, Ed Tucker, Chief Muldrew.</p><p>Within moments, the wind felt as if it had turned into a bitter chill. A shiver ran through her spine, igniting bolts through her skin. She fought to take in a shaky breath with one more short stride. She could practically feel the bile rising in her throat as the imagery around her unveiled itself. One more step was all it took to stand shoulder to shoulder with the man staring down into the grave.</p><p>She saw the numbness on his face as he stared down at the casket below the Earth's surface. His eyes were puffy but dry, he'd cried all of his tears already, somewhere that he could do it safely and alone. His pillow, she thought. He always saved the tears for his pillow.</p><p>"Elliot," she whispered, trying to carefully reach her hand out for his shoulder. Within an inch of resting her fingertips on the polyester of his formal NYPD jacket, her hand stopped at its own volition. He didn't move, he didn't even flinch. He just stood as cold as ice, staring down into the hole.</p><p>She watched for the rise and fall of his chest with worried eyes. Her jaw had fallen slightly at the sight of him. She had never seen him look so broken. There was no light left in his eyes. Over the years, the job had a way of withering that light away. This time, it was gone completely. He looked soulless to her.</p><p>Just before she could repeat his name, he begrudgingly picked up the shovel that had been plunged into a mound of dirt. Though her own scars had faded, she could still see his and more. As if he had spent days beating the walls until the walls beat him back. The veins in his temples flared as he used his strength to shovel up a portion of the dirt.</p><p>Her body felt frozen, her eyes darting back between the shovel and his face. If she could scream out as loud as possible, she would. In fact, she wanted to scream so loud that it would break through the barriers of her sleep and wake her up from the nightmare. His arm slowly maneuvered the shovel, and after a brief pause, the dirt fell over top of the several red roses that lay over the casket.</p><p>"Elliot! Elliot, stop! Who is that!" she finally had enough oxygen to call out. He didn't move. He was stuck, staring down at the grief in front of him. With a soft grunt, he wedged the shovel back into the remaining mound of dirt.</p><p>Where had the voice gone? The one reminding her that she was simply asleep and that nothing could hurt her. This world felt too real, too vivid to be a figment of her exhaustion.</p><p>He swiftly spun to face her, the force of his movements causing her dress to flow backward from the draft. His ice-blue eyes were mere inches away from hers, holding more pain and hurt than she could've ever imagined. She had never seen him with such an emptiness inside of himself. She'd seen his eyes blown with adrenaline while his fists raged against a perp's body. She had seen his eyes go unfocused after gunshots rang in their ears. But this was a shade of Elliot she had never witnessed. Feral, but void. He was staring into her soul, so much so that she felt the need to recoil under his glare.</p><p>"You know who it is," he grit the words out, his jaw so tense she was sure he would break his teeth. The paralysis came back, freezing her in the same spot her feet had been planted on the ground. His tone was as harsh as a blade, she was certain she could feel it carving a piece of her away. He paused, giving her a moment to note the red and bloodshot whites of his eyes that surrounded the cold ice.</p><p>"Rest in peace, Olivia."</p><p>Her lungs nearly gave out as she tried to force herself to breathe. He turned around, slowly walked away down the aisle of grieving friends and family.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>"Liv? Are you home?" Casey knocked against the door, holding her phone in her opposite hand as she dialed Olivia's number once again. She'd tried the number on her way back from the restaurant. She knew Olivia had been at the doctor's, but she was a very punctual person. When a half-hour had passed and Olivia hadn't shown, there was no quelling the worry that she had felt.</p><p>"Olivia?" she called out again, hearing the familiar ringtone from inside the apartment. The fear was multiplying faster than she could control it. "I'm worried. You didn't show up for lunch. Are you okay?"</p><p>The ringtone continued, but other than that, there were no signs of life beyond the door. Her heart started to beat a little quicker as she knocked one last time. "Liv, I'm coming in, okay?"</p><p>Casey silently thanked God that Olivia had returned the spare key back to its original spot underneath the plant beside her door. She slid the key in the lock, giving one last second to see if Olivia would hear her and answer the door. To no avail, the lock clicking didn't raise any sort of suspicion from within the apartment.</p><p>It wasn't until she had tried to open the door that she knew something was wrong. The door only opened about an inch, stopped by the weight of something laying against it. She tried again, pushing harder, with no luck.</p><p>She leaned down, squinting to peer through the small inch of space that the door gave into the apartment. Through the opening, she could see a limp hand lying on the floor in front of her.</p><p>Almost instantly, adrenaline began coursing through her like a river. With her shoulder bearing her weight, she ran and pushed the door open against Olivia's body. The pale and limp body of her co-worker had fallen slowly to the ground, away from where she rested against the door.</p><p>Casey rushed to her side, fumbling to get her cell phone out of her pocket. She fell to the floor, using one hand to feel her neck for a pulse while the other hand rapidly dialed for 911. "Liv? Liv, can you hear me?" she called out, patting Olivia's cheek in an attempt to wake her. "I need an ambulance at 203 West 89th Street, apartment 4D. She's unconscious, barely breathing with a weak pulse,"</p><p>She stared down at Olivia, panting as she tried to remember how to breathe. She'd never seen her look so pale, almost ghostly. Dried tears were still stuck to Olivia's cheeks from the fight she'd had with Elliot. Casey didn't know about any of that, not that she even cared at the moment. The world was frozen to her, all she could do was wait and listen for the sirens.</p><p>It felt like years and somehow just seconds at the same time. The entire time waiting for the EMTs to show up, Casey was jarred with the image of a completely still Olivia. She was almost certain that her own breathing had come to a halt until the ambulance came. Somehow through the fear that glued her feet to the ground, she'd managed to tell the EMTs what she knew about Olivia's health — which wasn't much. A few bits and pieces of memory had broken through as they rode to the MSK emergency room, pieces she had managed to remember from what Olivia had told her.</p><p>The speech of the EMTs was practically garbled to Casey. Her head was swimming, fear and shock swirling inside of her like a tornado. She wasn't sure what to think — or even how to think. All she could focus on was the sound of the sirens as the ambulance tore through the city streets.</p><p>Olivia didn't move, not a single stir as the vehicle sped over the potholes in the road. Her chest rose and fell, just barely visible to the human eye. They'd seen dead people before; lives taken right in the center of the bullpen. They'd both walked homicide crime scenes without even flinching. This was different in all the wrong ways. She had never seen someone look so still, especially not someone like Olivia.</p><p>She couldn't bring herself to wonder what would've happened if she hadn't felt the instinct to check in on Olivia. She couldn't bring herself to think at all. Not really. Her world was moving so slowly, even when the world around her was moving at the speed of lightning.</p><p>She wasn't sure who to call, or if it were even her place to call anyone. She'd known this when she dedicated herself to being a support system for Olivia. She knew that it could very well be just her alone. She didn't know about the fight with Elliot, she didn't know that Cragen and Fin now knew the truth too.</p><p>They finally reached the ambulance bay of the hospital, everyone rushing towards the back doors to load her out of the vehicle. Casey followed as quickly as she could, trying to listen to what they were saying and to see what they were doing. To say she felt helpless was the understatement of the century. </p><p>Just as they wheeled the gurney behind the curtains, Casey was pulled aside by one of the attending doctors she had seen meet them at the door. "N-no, you have to let me in there with her. Please!"</p><p>"Ma'am, please. You have to wait in the waiting room while we get her checked out." the doctor said, physically restraining Casey from entering the bay. </p><p>She tried to fight back but her body was nearly numb from the shock. All in a matter of minutes she had gone from meeting a friend for lunch to standing in the middle of an emergency room. </p><p>The intercom sounded throughout the hospital. <em>"Paging Doctor Keller to the Emergency room"</em></p><p>She stood for God knows how long until another white lab coat ran past her and into Olivia's unit. Would it be acceptable to break down and cry in the middle of the room? She wanted to. She felt the undeniable urge to drop to her knees right there and sob with fear. </p><p>She should've gotten there sooner. She waited and waited at the restaurant but her gut told her something was wrong. She shouldn't have sat around while the clock ticked and her best friend laid on the cold floor. </p><p>It wasn't long before a nurse led her to the waiting area. As much as she wanted to stay by Olivia's side, she was thankful because the room was starting to spin. </p><p>The minutes melted into one another and Olivia was still behind the curtains. She heard the sound of the wind whooshing as the automatic doors slid open across the room. She looked up and saw a familiar face, causing her to rise from her seat. "What the hell are you doing here?"</p><p>Elliot charged towards her, looking around with confusion. "Oh great, you knew too, huh?" he shot at her, earning a disgusted look. "I'm sorry, that was out of line. I'm listed as her emergency contact, they called me. What the hell happened?" </p><p>Casey shook her head, her mind still frolicking in the meadows of shock. "I-I don't know. We were supposed to have lunch and she didn't show up. I went to her apartment and she was just lying on the floor, I don't know what happened!" </p><p>Elliot stopped pacing, scrubbing his hands against his face. "Fuck," he mumbled. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"</p><p>"What? What aren't you telling me?"</p><p>"We got into an argument. I saw her leaving here earlier and we argued at her place and I left. Casey, I left!" his eyes blew wide with panic, adrenaline filling every vein and capillary in his body. Just before his own tears started to shed, the voices from behind them filled the room. </p><p>"She's in septic shock, her pressure is tanking. We gotta get her to an O.R." Doctor Keller called out, helping a handful of other nurses and doctors push her bed towards a set of double doors and out of the emergency room.</p><p>Casey and Elliot stood as still as stone, watching as they wheeled her away, unsure if it was the last time they'd ever see her again. </p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter Fifteen - Prayer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Casey had fallen asleep in the sadistically uncomfortable waiting room chairs. Four hours. He'd watched the clock for four grueling hours with no updates. He'd watched the third hand on the clock, ticking every second that passed. Each time, his heart sank lower. By now, he was certain that it didn't even exist inside of him anymore.</p><p>"Case… I'm gonna go get some coffee," he whispered as she stirred. He couldn't watch the clock anymore, if he did, he'd go insane. He was going insane, there was no point in pretending he still had a shred of control.</p><p>Instead of going to the cafeteria, he decided to wander the halls. He'd called Cragen, let him know that he was taking the rest of the day off. He almost insisted on coming down himself, but Elliot had convinced him otherwise. He didn't want anyone else to have to sit around and watch the clock.</p><p>Lost in one of the hallways, he stumbled upon the chapel. Every hospital had one. It was a place he had never dreamed of walking into, but he made his way inside of the empty room without realizing.</p><p>It dawned on him… he felt so far away from God. He had for a while.</p><p>When had he strayed? He couldn't pinpoint it. He never could. It was always so gradual, and just like that, he was too far gone before he even realized. There was never just one moment that caused the downfall, but instead, too many moments.</p><p>He took a deep breath, sitting down in one of the pews. Unsure of what exactly he was doing, he did the one thing that came natural. He bowed his head, clasped his hands, and quietly whispered under his breath.</p><p>"Dear God… I don't usually pray this way. Actually, I haven't prayed at all in a while. I guess I've been too afraid of being reamed out by Father Denis for avoiding confessional. I'm used to the big cathedral ceilings, not the small hospital chapels. Maybe a change of scenery will help, I'm not sure. I haven't been looking to you with help for my problems, maybe that's my biggest sin. But this isn't about my sins, so please forgive me for cutting to the chase."</p><p>"<em>Betadine." Doctor Keller's voice filled the O.R.</em></p><p>"I'm not praying for myself, per se. Or maybe I am, that's up for you to decide. My partner is up there. I don't know what they're doing to her, nobody will tell me anything. Sorry, maybe that seemed passive aggressive, I don't know. But in a literal sense, I have no clue what is going on. I didn't even know until earlier."</p><p>"<em>Scalpel."</em></p><p>His tears fall down the wooden pew in front of him.</p><p>This isn't working. It doesn't feel right.</p><p>"<em>Making an incision in the left axilla."</em></p><p>"I'm angry at you, God."</p><p>He hates himself for the bluntness but it's the first time something felt right in oh so long.</p><p>"Maybe I'll burn for admitting that, maybe not. But my faith is weakening and I'm angry. I'm angry that this has happened to her, and I'm angry that you let it happen. Hasn't she been through enough? I mean, why her? From the very start, she's never had a break. She's never had it easy. Not for a minute. Now this? I'm supposed to trust you and yet I can't, for a single moment, figure out why the hell this is happening. What greater purpose is there? What greater reasoning that surpasses all pain is there for her to be exactly where she is? Can you please just answer that for me? Please? I have seen so many soulless, broken people come across my path who have suffered much less and somehow she still has a light in her eyes. Why? Why can't she ever catch a freaking break? I'm angry. I'm livid. I'm infuriated. I've done a lot of things in my life that have probably earned me a one-way ticket to Hell, so I sure as shit am not afraid to burn here first for admitting that I am so fucking angry."</p><p>His fists curl into an angry ball without his knowledge, startling him with the sound of hitting against the pew.</p><p>"<em>Cauterizer."</em></p><p>"I have spent my life trusting you. I have preached your greatness to others, but I feel it fading. I feel myself withdrawing from you and I hate it. I always thought my faith was unwavering, but I'm only human. Maybe I just don't understand. So make me understand, because I feel my faith shattering from not being able to wrap my head around why this is happening."</p><p>"<em>Clamps"</em></p><p>"I was an ass to her, God. I'm sorry. So please, take it out on me. Not her. She doesn't deserve this. She is a good person. The best person I've ever met. I don't know why she even puts up with me. I got scared and I got mad and I freaked out. I won't be able to live with myself if that was the last conversation I ever have with her. I need her. I need more years of laughing and arguing and stakeouts and night shifts."</p><p>"<em>We gotta get her pressure up,"</em></p><p>"Please, God. Please."</p><hr/><p>"Thought I'd find you here," Casey's quiet voice startled Elliot. He wasn't sure if it was from crying or emotional exhaustion, but he had nodded off with his head lying on the pew in front of him.</p><p>"Sorry," he mumbled, pushing himself out from the seat. "Any updates?"</p><p>Casey crossed her arms over her chest, her expression falling with a deep sadness. "It was a close call. She had an infection and she wasn't responding to antibiotics. The infection made it into her blood and she started to go into shock. But… she's out of surgery and awake. I just saw her for a little bit."</p><p>Elliot clamped his eyes shut, trying with all of his might not to cry. "How long have you known?"</p><p>Casey didn't want to answer. She had witnessed both sides. She went to work every day, seeing Elliot hurting and practically lost without Olivia. Then, she would go visit Olivia and see the same. Stuck in the middle between a war with no right side. "I've known for a while…"</p><p>He gulped, taking the punch to the gut. He glanced down at the floor and then up at the ceiling, as if the answer was somehow magically between both. "I don't even know what kind of cancer she has…"</p><p>She took a deep breath, stepping forward. She knew she shouldn't be the one to tell him, but her conscience argued that Olivia had been through enough already. "Invasive ductal carcinoma… it spread to her lymph nodes. They told me that's where the infection started."</p><p>They both stood in silence, letting the heartache rain over them. There was no point in stopping it, it was a force to be reckoned with. Their friend, their partner, was lying in a hospital bed in the middle of a cancer institute. They had to at least be entitled to some grief.</p><p>"I— I hate myself for it but I'm still angry, Casey." he whispered, as if it were a sin to admit it in the middle of a chapel. "I'm mad about all of it."</p><p>"Go talk to her, Elliot. You both fight with such ferocity that you barely even get your points across. I'm sure you didn't get the whole story when you two were hashing it out in her apartment."</p><p>"What's left to tell?" he looked at her with hopelessness filling his baby blue eyes. "She already told me, she isn't doing chemo yet. It's a dumb decision and I can't help but be angry about it."</p><p>"Go talk to her, room 205" Casey patted his shoulder, walking away before she would need to answer any more questions.</p><p>A slight rise of anger started to fill him. Another secret. Another lie. Another gut-wrenching piece of information that he was last to hear about.</p><p>He made his way out of the chapel, leaving his quiet prayers behind, hoping they had been heard somewhere other than between the four walls.</p><p>The hospital was a maze to him, but after asking about six different nurses, he'd finally found the door with her name tag on it. He stared at it for a moment, tracing each letter with his eyes.</p><p>
  <em>Benson, Olivia M.</em>
</p><p>Once again, it was nothing but a door between the two of them. He remembered the night she had finally spoken to him. As short lived as the moment was, he'd remember it forever. The silky touch of her fingers on his; a message of hope. The only difference this time was that he had the ability to open the door.</p><p>When he walked in, he saw a sight he had never seen before. She was pale, an oxygen cannula was snug under her nose and her bandaged arm was against her chest in a sling.</p><p>He'd never forget the look in her weary brown eyes. She looked down at her lap as soon as she realized it was he who had walked in. He knew it would be awkward, but the shame and the tension in the air was electric enough to nearly push each other away. "Hey," she whispered.</p><p>"Hey," he carefully pulled up the seat next to her. He tiredly gazed up and down at the bandages covering her skin. He gulped at the sight of them, a painful lump growing in his throat. They shouldn't be there. This shouldn't be her. He wasn't sure who it should be, if anybody, but not her.</p><p>"Can we talk?" she asked quietly, finally allowing herself to make eye contact with him. She could easily make out the red bags under his eyes. She assumed he had probably cried just as hard as she remembered herself crying.</p><p>It wasn't supposed to be like this. She never meant to hurt him.</p><p>"Yeah... yeah we should probably talk."</p><p>She took a deep breath, allowing herself the will to finally say what she had meant to say back at the apartment. "Your opinion is probably the only opinion I value."</p><p>He smiled softly "I value your-"</p><p>"Don't..." she stuck her free hand up, closing her eyes to hide away from his grin. "Don't say it. Don't smile because what I'm about to say is not a compliment..." she stopped, taking in another deep breath in an attempt to slow the rapid fraying of her nerves. "I value your opinion. Probably more than anyone else. But that doesn't mean I believe that you know what's best for me. We've been through a lot in the past ten years, El. We really have. So when it's something about work, I do value your opinion and even then, I might consider what you think is for the best. But very rarely have we experienced problems outside of our work lives that we have both been through. That makes it difficult to expect you to understand my problems."</p><p>"All I'm saying is that—"</p><p>"I know what you're saying, Elliot. I do." She huffed out something between a deep breath and a laugh in protest. "I know because I've asked myself if I'm making the right decision about a hundred times. But for once, I am doing what's best for <em>me</em>, and that's because I <em>do</em> know what's best for me. Right now, you don't agree what's best for me and I'm not going to apologize for the fact that I'm not going to follow your wishes, requests, or opinions in this situation. <em>My </em>situation."</p><p>He leaned back in his seat, his eyes going empty and cold as the words ran over him. She watched with apprehension as his mouth opened and closed. He wasn't sure of what to say, but it wasn't like she really knew either. "You're risking your life. You expect me to sit back and just watch that happen?"</p><p>"Yes." she nodded firmly. "Yes, I do, because despite what you may think or want to believe, you have absolutely no clue what I am going through." She could hear herself starting to choke up. The impending fall of tears blurred her vision, but maybe that was for the best because she couldn't stand to see the look on his face.</p><p>"This..." he vaguely pointed in front of himself, struggling to get the words out in a coherent string. "This is a midlife crisis."</p><p>The words burned on her skin.</p><p>
  <em>Midlife crisis.</em>
</p><p>She blinked a few times, replacing the tears of sadness with anger. "Excuse you?"</p><p>He refused to relent, his eyes warping from rigidly cold to blazing anger. "And you are letting a midlife crisis become an end of life crisis."</p><p>"That's a big statement coming from you." She bit her lip, laughing from the rich anger that came with his hypocrisy.</p><p>"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"</p><p>She laughed harder. "Dear God, Elliot. How jaded are you? Have you looked at your youngest child lately? He's living, breathing proof of your own midlife crisis." she spat back, her words releasing the pent up aggression that she wasn't even aware had existed.</p><p>His jaw tightened as he glared at her "Don't you dare go there."</p><p>"Why not?" her sardonic smile died down and transformed into a bluntness he rarely saw in her. "I mean, come on, let's make things fair, right? You wanna throw knives at me, I've got just as good of a throwing arm!"</p><p>"No, you don't!" he screamed back, "Your <em>'throwing arm'</em> is currently wrapped in gauze to cover a surgical wound! If that isn't enough for you to realize what you're doing is a mistake, I don't know what is!"</p><p>"For christ's sake, Elliot! I'm not leaving the force to go join a heist crew! I'm suspending treatment for a few weeks to try to save the one scrap of a chance I have left at a life outside of being a fucking cop! Do you not realize that, <em>super-dad family man</em>? You have no goddamn clue! Even when you go home to an empty apartment at night, you have a family. You have a family to hold onto. You have something to look forward to, even if it's just weekends and every Wednesday! You're always gonna have someone. Several someones. I have <strong>nothing!</strong>" Her voice raised, shouting the last word loud enough for the entire hospital to hear. The tears that finally broke through the strength of holding them back burned as they dripped down her cheeks.</p><p>The ache that had long-lived inside of her chest was more apparent to her now, rather than the stitches that were supposed to hurt worse. Her heart was breaking with every word that came crashing down upon them like acid rain. She wasn't really sure if she cared anymore. If this is what it was to pour gasoline on their friendship and partnership, she was ready to throw the match. She hated herself for it but being held back wasn't in the cards anymore.</p><p>"You're not thinking this through!"</p><p>"It's not up to you!" she cried back. "When's the last time I ever did something to better my life, Elliot? Name one thing in the past ten years I've done! Yeah, I've had a few relationships, some which could've probably worked out. I've had chances, but no, I always sacrifice them for everyone else. Name one fucking thing I've done for me!"</p><p>
  <em>May the bridges I burn light the way.</em>
</p><p>"Are you blaming me?" he retorted, trying feebly to maintain his non-existent innocence.</p><p>He knew. Deep down. He knew.</p><p>"Well you've made it oh so easy for me, haven't you?" she laughed again, quickly shooting back at him just as fast as he shot at her.</p><p>He stood up from the chair beside her bed, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "Your failed relationships aren't my fault, Olivia."</p><p>"You sure about that?"</p><p>"There are different ways to become a mother, Olivia!" he raised his voice again as he started to pace around the room. "I-I mean, adoption, or foster care, or even adopting an embryo! But you're killing yourself in the process and you're too damn naïve to see it! It- it's selfish!"</p><p><em>"I had kids the old fashioned way" </em>she mocked. "You have no fucking clue, Elliot. You have been blessed with five beautiful children and you even had a wife for a while. Yeah, you had a shitty childhood but you came out stronger on the other end. So don't sit here on the high horse of your privilege and tell me how to live my life! Better yet, don't you even think about telling me what's selfish because this might be the first selfish thing I've done since I met you!"</p><p>It wasn't vicious, the way the oxygen left his lungs. It was subtle. Unsettling subtle. He looked down to make sure she wasn't really sticking her hand in his chest to rip his heart out, because it sure as hell felt like it.</p><p>"Hey!" a voice from the door caught both of their attentions. She saw Doctor Keller standing there, holding her chart in his arm. Olivia fell back against the bed without realizing she had even sat up. Her free arm came up to run her hand through her hair, wiping away her tears with the side of her hand. "Now, I don't know who the hell you are, but I know that this is my patient who happens to be fresh out of an extremely invasive surgery. I don't care how you both fight outside of here, but in <em>my</em> hospital, it's not gonna fly. I'm trying to keep my patient alive and as calm as possible, so I'm going to ask you really politely to leave."</p><p>Elliot sputtered for a moment, trying to realize what had just happened. He ripped his jacket off the back of the chair and darted out the door, leaving Olivia in a sobbing mess.</p><p>"Breathe. Deep breaths," Doctor Keller spoke quietly, sitting in the now unoccupied guest chair. She was hyperventilating, each rapid breath blistering where the intubation tube had scratched her throat. He gently patted her shaking hand. "It's gonna be okay,"</p><p>"I don't care anymore." she sobbed in a broken voice. "Just... fuck it. Do the chemo, do the radiation. I'm done, I don't care."</p><p>A near silence fell over the room, all except for the breathy cries that came from her trembling body. He stared at her for a moment. She had pushed and pushed, all against his advice, so much so that she nearly died in the process. Now she wanted to quit?</p><p>"No," he whispered.</p><p>He knew what he was doing was wrong, in fact it was pretty much unethical too. But she had done the job she had set out to do; she had gotten under his skin. She had evolved the mindset he had with her, and in some ways, he was beginning to understand her a little bit more. From the two and a half weeks he had gotten to know her, he could already tell this was a blip. She wasn't a quitter. He was just the one who was witnessing the off-chance that she was feeling weak and then giving in to it.</p><p>"What?" she sniffled.</p><p>"No," he shook his head. "You were right. You have a chance. I mean, it's pretty much my job to give people the best chance they can possibly have. Normally, that would pertain only to their diagnosis but maybe I'm absolutely insane for this, but I think giving you a different type of chance might be even better. I don't think you wanna quit. In fact, I think it's safe to say I <em>know </em>you don't want to quit."</p><p>She finally managed to look up at him through her swollen eyes.</p><p>"Olivia, I've read about you. I don't normally do that with patients. Actually, it's kind of a rookie move..." he let go of a deep breath. "You save everyone. You're kinda like me, you try to give people another chance. But nobody is ever there to give you a chance, or let you allow yourself to have a chance. And I know my job is to be on the scientific side of it all, but I'm a firm believer that attitude is half the battle. From what I've read and come to understand, you aren't a quitter. You're a survivor. And my opinion as a person, not your doctor, is that you're gonna survive this too. So, <em>no.</em> No, I'm not gonna give up on your IVF plans because I know that its something you want to do. It's something you deserve to do. Give yourself the chance."</p><p>"Are you sure?" she whispered, wiping away the rest of the tears from her skin.</p><p>"Look, if you come to me in a few days and say you wanna skip IVF, then I'm on board. But for now, I don't want you to make a decision that you're going to regret just because you've had a hell of a bad day. It might be the stupidest thing I've ever done as a doctor, but my gut tells me that this is gonna be worth it for you." he smiled, patting her hand once more before standing from the chair. "Try to get some rest."</p><p>"Wait," she reached out to stop him. "I forgot to ask, how'd the surgery go?"</p><p>The subtle smile returned to his face as he cocked his head to the side. "We were able to clear most of the infection. We also were able to remove what looks like all of the lymphatic tumors in your arm, which buys us a little bit of time. We'll have to check again after the swelling goes down and we'll have to keep an eye on it to make sure they don't grow back. But, you just became a little less malignant, Olivia Benson."</p><p>Even with the streaks of dried tears staining her face, and swollen eyes from crying, she managed to smile just a little bit.</p><p>Less malignant was better than nothing.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter Sixteen - Epiphany</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>inspired by tswift's new song 'epiphany'</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Stabler, my office," Cragen called out through the bullpen. Elliot rose up from his chair, exchanging looks with Munch and Fin who tried to hide their smirks. Assholes. They always laughed, like a kid being pulled out of class to go to the principal's office. He wanted to splash his coffee on both of them. The coffee he barely had time to drink since he had just arrived. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On his way towards Cragen's office, he stuck his middle finger up behind himself at his co-workers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shut the door behind himself, crossing his arms over his chest. Cragen wordlessly motioned for him to take a seat. Just what he wanted at the ass-crack of dawn, to be reamed out by his boss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn't fucked up a case, at least not consciously. He had walked away from Fin when they'd gone to check an alibi, but he was certain that it had been swept under the rug already. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How's Olivia?" Cragen asked simply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elliot's shoulders sunk. He wasn't an idiot. He knew Cragen had gone to see her. It was a mind game. He was so sick and fucking tired of the mind games. He gulped down the lump that seemed to be stuck in his throat. "You tell me." he bit back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cragen let the retort wash away. He knew Elliot wasn't just angry at Olivia, he was angry at the world. It wasn't the first time, it probably wouldn't be the last either. Anyone who knew Elliot also knew that when he was angry, everyone had to know about it. It wasn't a trait he was exactly proud of. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She's been in the hospital for three days, Elliot. You've seen her once." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, well, I'm not exactly welcome there anymore." his voice became only more snide as he rolled his eyes. His arms went back to being crossed over his chest. He always liked to cover up the very place that the knives dug the deepest. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>'My boy plays it pretty close to the vest'</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn't like it when people saw his hurt. It was in his job description to protect people, he didn't want to be protected by anyone other than himself. And he certainly never liked showing his wounds in case anyone ever wanted to poke at them. They were his bruises to dig at, nobody else's. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And why might that be?" Cragen asked, leaning back in the leather chair behind his desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can we just cut the crap, please?" Elliot sighed, rolling his eyes tiredly. "I get it, you're pissed off that I argued with her. I was an ass for it, and I'm sorry. But right now, I know that we're gonna argue again if I even go near her, so I'm staying away. I just wanna give us some time."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cragen stared at him for a moment, his brows raised with something other than surprise, he just couldn't put his finger on what it was. All-knowingness maybe? It was a look as old as time, like he had some answer that Elliot just couldn't find. "That's it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span> "I guess?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Elliot, you don't have time." the Captain gave him a weak smile. If it even qualified as a smile. Maybe he was just laughing at how goddamn naïve the man in front of him was. "The clock started ticking a few weeks ago, it isn't going to stop ticking either. You're not giving anything time, you're wasting it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The atmosphere was thick with silence. He didn't have whatever answer Cragen wanted, or even the answers he wanted for himself. He closed his eyes, squeezing them as tightly as possible until he saw sparks of light behind his lids. "I know..." he whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, why are you wasting that time if you know it's valuable?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Because she's only giving up more time! If..." he swallowed hard, choking the words out. "If she waits, God only knows how much time she's giving up for no reason. I don't want to lose her!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Has it dawned on you that she has </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing? </span>
  </em>
  <span>She doesn't have a family waiting at home for her. The only relative she has left is her brother and we all know he's not around. Right now, she's walking around with nothing but a small sliver of hope that if she makes it out alive on the other side, she'll have something to look forward to."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There are other ways!" he interjected. "There are other ways to grow a family!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But who are you to decide that for her, Elliot? Can you just imagine what it would be like for you if you had never had Kathy? If you had never had your children? For God's sake, you have so many people in your life, even ones you could dispose of, or already have." Elliot felt the jab; he was referring to his mother. His heart sank to his stomach, restricting his breathing. "Right now, this job is all she has — and she won't have that forever."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gulped, looking down in his lap with guilt written all over his face. "She has me..." he whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But for how long?" Cragen looked at him with a deep sadness haunting his dark brown eyes. "You won't be here forever either."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elliot stayed silent, letting the Captain's words run through him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to be...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I mean... what's the point of fighting if you don't have anything to fight for? You've almost flatlined with a bullet in your skin a handful of times, why did you choose to fight?" he paused, giving Elliot a moment to think. He knew the answer already. Every single time, it was the image of his children in his mind, pleading for him to just keep breathing. "Have you considered that maybe, just maybe, this might actually save her life?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Playing it close to the vest wasn't always an option. It took strength, so much fucking strength to do so. A type of strength he didn't feel even existed within himself right now. A little more of her was gone, he could see it in her eyes. Where there was once a capacity for him to feel broken over that, he instead felt exhausted. Maybe they were the same thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Captain..." he paused, drawing in a shaky breath. "Am I bad person?" He felt a solitary tear roll down his cheek as the words escaped in a whisper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just be who she needs you to be, Elliot."</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Olivia stood at the foot of her hospital bed, carefully packing up the bag that Casey had brought her after her surgery. She had every reason to be miserable; a PICC line remaining in her arm as well as the sling that supported her wound. Yet, she was surprised to still feel some happiness within her. After staring at her apartment walls for three weeks, she didn't expect to be so happy to return to them. She hated the silence at home, but her hatred towards the hospital would always be greater. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In normal Olivia style, she had bargained her way out of staying an extra three days. Her labs were coming back better each time, the remainder of the infection was finally responding to the antibiotics, and she'd made the promise of a week's worth of bed rest. She was still physically and mentally exhausted, leaving her fairly confident that she would actually survive bed rest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, bed rest adjacent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bed rest, huh?" Doctor Keller caught her attention from the door. She rolled her eyes with a curt laugh, moving to sit on the edge of the bed and resume her packing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Someone's gotta get me the hell out of here, figured I should do it myself." she retorted, folding and tucking a shirt into the duffle bag. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I got some pathology reports back," he said, smacking the file against his palm. "Thought you might be in the mood for some good news, yes?" he pulled out the rolling chair from the desk next to her bed and sat down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her heart started racing as he thumbed through the pages. Her knuckles slowly gripped at the thin blanket on the bed. "G-good news?" she could hear the tremble in her own voice, bringing on a thick cloak of vulnerability. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah," he shut the file and crossed his hands over his lap. "You are extremely lucky. The type of cancer you have is often fueled by natural hormones in your body. In most cases, we do hormone suppressant therapy which obviously would make IVF impossible since we would need to load you up with those same hormones to do an egg retrieval." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her lip quivered as the anticipation set in. "But?" she leaned forward, her eyes growing wider with anticipation every second that passed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But..." he smiled. "You, my dear, are both ER and PR negative. The cancer isn't feeding off of those hormones, neither estrogen or progesterone. I spoke to my colleagues and your team," his smile grew wider with another pause. "You've got the green light to do the egg retrieval."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately, a sob tore through her, causing her body to buck forward as she gasped. She buried her head in her hands, crying pure joy for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. "Really?" she choked out in between her sobs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mhm," he chuckled, handing her a box of tissues off of the desk. "In fact, you have a consultation scheduled with an embryologist in our network next week. It may be a little longer until you can start the hormones, we still need to give your body some time to heal. But, they've looked over your case, and they agreed that it's okay as long as we proceed with caution."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sobbed harder into the crumpled tissues in her hand, struggling to catch her breath with each cry. If it weren't for the healing wound on her arm, she would've raised her hands up as high as could be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The idea that she ever understood catharsis before that moment was a lie. She had never experienced such a raw emotion before in her entire life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"One round, Liv. That's it." he said sternly. "We can't take any more risks after this. I mean, this in itself is a massive risk. We can't push our luck any further. Got it?" he raised his brows, making eye contact with her as soon as she managed to look up. Even with his own fears of the situation, it warmed his heart to finally see her in the pure form of joy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded, wiping away her tears as soon as she was somewhat coherent again. "Yeah, I got it." she beamed. "I'll do whatever I have to do."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm glad to hear that," he said, standing up from the chair. "Because that means that you will go home and rest because the sooner you heal, the sooner we can get started on this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She slowly started to resume packing her bags as he made it towards the door. She quietly thanked God that he had turned around because she didn't have to feel so conscious about the expression on her face. Staying detached and keeping her emotions to herself for so many years was starting to take a toll. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Doctor Keller?" she said, pulling his attention right before he was ready to leave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned on his heel to look at her in all of her emotional glory, viewing every vulnerability she had tried so hard to hide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you," she whispered, her voice as genuine as could be. He smiled at her and she smiled back, her eyes still flooded with unfallen tears. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>When he walked into his apartment late that night, the walls spoke to him in a different way than usual. For so long, he had become familiar with the feeling of stepping into his empty home. He had come to terms with it.</p><p>No longer were his nights met with the sound of children bustling around, ready to be rallied into bed to end the day. No more bedtime stories, no more braiding hair, no more tucking them in and checking under the bed for monsters.</p><p>It wasn't just that they had grown up, but that they had grown apart.</p><p>He was alone.</p><p>He didn't get to walk into his home of teenagers at the end of a long duty. The inevitable sigh of relief that came with knowing his children were safe and sound under his roof. Even if they weren't little, even if they were fully grown and thriving, he was still missing something.</p><p>He had their pictures scattered around the apartment. A half-assed reminder that it wasn't all a dream. It wasn't just an imaginary past. He clung to them, any morsel those photos could give to remind him that once upon a time, he was someone different.</p><p>Maureen was busy doing what she was best at. She'd walked across the stage, welcoming her well-deserved diploma to finally work in the medical field. Kathleen was probably spending her evening catching up on paperwork, sitting in her cubical at the rape crisis center whilst chugging coffee to keep her eyes open. A job she never expected to love so damn much. Dickie was undeniably sitting in bed, an Xbox controller in his hands while he dreamed of the life he desperately wanted in the military, while simultaneously ignoring the loads of homework in his backpack. Lizzie, she was likely nose-burried in a book that she had already read a million times. Eli was probably already asleep, just another young Stabler child who didn't yet have a grasp on the world around him.</p><p>They existed. They were still on the same Earth as him, even if they were however many miles away.</p><p>And the apartment was dark and cold, a home to only himself.</p><p>If it even qualified as a home.</p><p>He'd see his kids soon; the mantra that got him through every tough day. If only for a few hours, maybe an entire night if he were lucky enough.</p><p>Some days, the thought of seeing them again was just enough to push through the sadness. This was not one of those nights. It was another night he dreaded, a night that taunted him with the idea that the silence would swallow him whole.</p><p>His thoughts would burn a hole in his head and scorch the leather couch on their way out. Yet, somehow, even in the throes of self-pity, his heartache expanded for someone else. Someone who didn't have the same mantra to repeat in order to keep them from imploding in the loneliness.</p><p>Someone who was stumbling through a much darker tunnel than he was, unsure if there was even a way out.</p><p>The darkness of the paint on the walls didn't bring him the shelter and security he felt he needed. An everest green backdrop with a mounted television on mute mocking him. Laughing at him. How dare you think that you're any better? How dare you think you've got it all sorted out just enough to judge.</p><p>The Captain's words reverberated in his head, even hours after they had been said. <em>"Why did you choose to fight?"</em></p><p>There had been no need for the pause he had taken. The answer was as clear as crystal. The answer would always be the same. His children. His family. His reason to carry on, a reason so strong that it knew no earthly bounds.</p><p>It left him questioning; a question so dark and deep within him that it hurt just to think about it. What if he didn't have his reasons? Would he have chosen to fight? Had he never had the experience to grow a legacy and a family would the thought of Olivia be enough to keep him from drowning in his own tragedy? Would his heart have continued to beat while a bullet was lodged into his body?</p><p>He hated the answer because it was more than just an answer to his own question, it was an answer to hers.</p><p>He wasn't enough.</p><p>Not right now, maybe not ever.</p><p>He wanted to be.</p><p>He understood it now. With the silence screaming at him in the center of an empty home, he could see it all so clearly now. No noise, no laughter, no purpose to keep fighting. Nothing to come home to. Nothing to live for.</p><p>She was creating her reasons to live. Maybe he'd be the additional help she needed. A supporting beam in a bigger picture. She knew well enough than to go into a fight without any back up. No guns, no ammunition, then there was no fight. Only loss. She knew how to win a fight, so was preparing.</p><p>He understood it now.</p><p>The mere thought of his children, wherever they be, was powerful enough to keep him going. Not even their faces or their voices, but just the knowledge that they still walked along side him in this life, their existence.</p><p>Something she never had.</p><p>
  <em>He understood it now.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter Seventeen - Rewind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The precinct.</p><p>A place that had become a second home to her. In many cases, even more comforting than home. A safe place that wasn't really safe at all. Bullets had grazed the filing cabinets and blood had spilled on the floor, yet the walls still had the same embrace as a warm hug.</p><p>She never thought she'd miss the smell of burnt coffee and typewriter ink.</p><p>Heads turned as she slowly made her way into the bullpen. Each step was delicate, guarded hopes that she could slip in unnoticed. She didn't want the attention that was so recklessly coming her way.</p><p>She was grateful to have finally rid herself of the sling, leaving her to cover up any remaining trace of her wounds with a turtleneck sweater. The seams of the bandages still protruded past the fabric of the shirt, but at least it wasn't painfully obvious.</p><p>She was home.</p><p>The 1-6 had always felt like an old friend. An old friend who had seen her in so many phases of life. This place had seen her grow.</p><p>
  <em>"Hi, I'm looking for Detective Stabler?" she asked, coming to the first desk nearest to the door. The station house was similar to her last; the same tall ceilings and beige walls. The same day-to-day business of uniformed officers standing around and witnesses waiting to be interviewed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You got me, how can I help you?" he finally responded, looking up from the pile of paperwork he had been buried in. A slightly open-mouth smile drew across his lips as his eyes fell upon hers for the very first time. He was paused, completely immersed in the second that felt like an eternity. The brunette hair that fell to her shoulders and the long, dark eyelashes that almost touched her cheeks when she blinked.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I'm Detective Olivia Benson. I'm your new partner." she stuck her hand out to shake his, her own grin breaking through the subtlety she was hoping for.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>As if his brain had short-circuited, it took a moment for him to register that she was trying to shake his hand. He forced himself back to reality, his calloused palms meeting the softness of her skin. "N-new partner?" he sputtered, never quite losing the smile. "What happened to Jo?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I uh, I don't know any Jo. I just transferred here from the 5-5." she vaguely motioned at the door, her eyes refusing to leave his. "My old sarge recommended me for the spot."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Well then, welcome aboard, Olivia Benson."</em>
</p><p>"Liv?" a familiar voice pulled her out of her reverie. "You okay? You've been staring off into space for a moment." Cragen said, walking up towards her.</p><p>She turned to face him, still drowning in the nostalgia that had run through her. From the small twinge in her cheeks, she could tell that she was wearing the same grin now as she had from the first day she had joined the squad. "I'm fine, Captain."</p><p>"Good," he smiled. "I'm glad to have you back." he patted her back, leaving her to get comfortable at her desk.</p><p>The damn thing had turned into a shrine. Nothing changing since the last time she had seen it. Even the little pink appointment reminder slip she had left on the surface was still there. Over an entire month since she had stepped foot back into the very room that she had almost every day for ten years in. Dust had gathered on the keyboard and monitor of her computer, along with any remnants of paperwork that she hadn't finished.</p><p>As soon as she sat down, the room was spinning.</p><p>
  <em>"Well, that's your new desk. Make yourself at home," he laughed, sitting directly across from her. She set her box of paperwork and framed photographs down, attempting to hide the grin that burned in her cheeks.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She glanced over at him, seeing the prominent smirk he wore as he pretended not to watch her. "So, what made you want to leave the 5-5? Word on the street is that they have a much better coffee maker there."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She giggled as she placed a golden-edged frame on her desk. The never-ending reminder of why she wanted to join. Better yet, why she had begged Karen Smythe to help her transfer. Within the frame was a photo of her and her mother, a rare point in time when things between them were actually decent. But, that was a story for another day. For now, the real reason she had wanted to transfer was a secret to be kept to herself.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I guess I wanted to do something a little more meaningful. I just finished my bid as a traffic cop and graduated to a detective. I'm dying to get some actual experience under my belt. That, and I like a good puzzle. My old unit was just a bunch of open and shut cases."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The sparkle in his eye didn't leave. Instead, the icy blue gaze only became more apparent. He was quickly becoming engulfed in the need to know everything about her. She had a mystery lurking around her, calling to him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He wanted to know about every detail that made Olivia into who she is.</em>
</p><p>The desk across from hers was empty.</p><p>Shocker.</p><p>There was a little less light in reality than there was in her memory. Maybe time had been the one that had dulled everything out, turning it shades of grey rather than the vibrancy she had remembered from her first day.</p><p>Maybe Cragen had told him that she was coming back. Maybe he had made it his mission not to be present.</p><p>Or maybe she should just appreciate the alone time she had before God knows what would happen next.</p><p>Over a month since she had left. Two weeks since she had been discharged from the hospital. A week since she had gone to her fertility specialist for her first consultation. Two weeks since she had last seen him.</p><p>The frames on her desk had grown since her first day. Alongside her mother's photo was a photo of herself and Elliot, and a shot of the squad at a Christmas party back in '98.</p><p>
  <em>"C'mon, Liv. Get in the photo." Elliot chuckled as he waved towards her. The precinct was decorated with garland and lights. It wasn't the jolliest place in the world, but they made due with it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"No!" she laughed, hesitantly shaking her head. "It's okay, I'll take the picture!" Cassidy, Munch, Cragen, Jeffries, Briscoe Jr. and the rest of the squad were huddled around the empty desk, cradling their own cups of spiked punch.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She hadn't felt as if she were part of the squad yet. Not that they weren't offering her a warm welcome. They were kind to her, accepting her presence almost instantly. But in the few weeks she had been a part of the 1-6, she struggled to adapt.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>For a while, she had even considered if her mother had been right. Maybe this wasn't the best for her. But she had a wound, and the easiest way she healed was by healing other wounds.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Maybe she should've been a damn doctor.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Look, it's got a timer on it." Elliot was by her side in a swift movement, showing her the buttons on the newest camera that the department had gotten their hands on.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But being around him made it easier. A metaphorical hand to hold while she learned the ropes. With him, she always seemed to finally be able to release the breath she wasn't aware she had been holding. He was becoming her safe place.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>As much as she hated to admit that she needed a shoulder to lean on, she couldn't deny herself of the simple fact that it was him. He was the one who helped hold her hair back when a crime scene made her physically sick. He was the face that stared at her during long nights of endless paperwork. He was the one who brought her a bagel from her favorite place every morning even though it took him out of his route to work.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You're a part of this place now. We're all practically family" he whispered in her ear, sending shivers down her spine. The others were off in the distance, co-mingling while waiting for the photo. "Families don't leave each other out of photos."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He set up the camera before he led her away, quickly rushing back to the group. "Alright, on the count of three everyone say 'Merry Christmas'." his arm wrapped around her shoulder, clutching her into the frame. She couldn't help but giggle as he tried to grab everyone's attention.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"3, 2, 1, Merry Christmas!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And just like that, forever remembered for as long as the photo would last, she turned her head at the last minute to smile up at him.</em>
</p><p>The blinding flash from the camera in her memories brought her back. Same desks, a handful of the same people, the same cases over and over again. How was it possible that so much had changed in ten years.</p><p>Looking across her gave her an eerie feeling that something was off. Logically, she knew it was because Elliot wasn't staring back at her with another dopey grin. She glanced back down at the photo, watching her past self get caught mid-laugh with someone she never knew would become such a massive part of her life.</p><p>The thought of calling him had crossed her mind. She wasn't ready to cave yet, not when she had taken such a hard stance. But she hated change more than she hated anything else, and everything was changing so quickly, something within her begged to hold onto one last shred of what normalcy was to her. She wanted her partner back. She wanted her life back.</p><p>Maybe she wasn't ready to come back to work.</p><p>Nostalgia of a life that wasn't even gone yet was taking her in its chokehold, and nostalgia from a life ten years ago wasn't helping.</p><p>Why couldn't she breathe?</p><p>She had tried to convince herself that letting go of her old life was okay because she would start a new one. She would finally do the things she had never done. But even just the thought of life becoming a whirlwind was enough to tighten the grip on her throat.</p><p>Nothing was the same. Nothing would ever be the same. This was it, this was her life. Maybe not forever, but time didn't move in reverse. New normal, new normal, new normal; the words that every goddamn human on the planet seemed to spout off at her.</p><p>She just wanted to breathe and know it would be a breath taken without the world shifting under her feet. Why couldn't she breathe?</p><p>She felt their eyes on her, the whispers and the stares. Yeah, that's right, it's me!</p><p>It was wrong to do this. She was wrong. She wasn't ready to come back or even try to pretend that it would ever be the way it once was. Not even to entertain the thought enough to end the feeling of impending doom. What the fuck where they starring at? Jesus Christ, get back to work!</p><p>The room was getting smaller, the voices growing louder. She could feel it in her bones. Were they pitying her? Was she just some goddamn spectacle? She tried to close her eyes which only made the spinning of the room worsen. She couldn't sit at this desk. She couldn't stare at this computer. How could she? How could she sit at this desk and pretend to be the same person who had sat at it last. They were no longer her fingerprints on the keyboard, they were a stranger's who happened to be herself.</p><p>Everything was wrong and her lungs were collapsing under the weight of her thoughts. What kind of person forgot how to breathe? For fuck's sake, quit staring!</p><p>She needed to leave. She couldn't. She'd have to carry on a conversation with Cragen which would feel like eternity and she didn't have eternity, she had exactly 4 seconds before her lungs would explode.</p><p>She darted out of her chair so fast the damn thing was practically spinning from her departure. The cribs, she could make it to the cribs. If she just put one foot in front of the other and forced herself to keep her eyes open, she could make it.</p><p>The adrenaline and anxiety created a volatile mix in her veins, thrumming through her system without any signs of slowing down. She needed peace and quiet and somewhere that she couldn't hear the blaring loud thoughts of those who couldn't peel their fucking eyes off of her.</p><p>Ten more steps to the metal door and she'd be home free.</p><p>A moment to collect herself without the recollection of everything she was losing. Everything that was leaving her behind. It was different in the walls of her own home where silence was bountiful and nobody watched and waited for some unmistakable sign that she was falling apart.</p><p>She was naïve for thinking that she was ready to come back. But with the way she felt, the panic that electrocuted her spine, she wasn't sure she'd ever be ready.</p><p>The door to the cribs slammed behind her and the world around her was gone. The oxygen that filled her lungs felt like the first breath of air after drowning.</p><p>The heel of her boots slowly clicked against the cement floor. She raised the arm that wasn't mangled to lean against the metal frame of one of the bunks. Within moments of her head resting against her arm, she broke. Like a fucking baseball bat to a sandcastle, she crumbled. Mascara-stained tears fell down her cheeks, leaving a black mark on her navy blue sleeve.</p><p>
  <em>"I just— I just need a minute." she wheezed out, planting both arms beside her on the bottom bunk she had sat down on. She had run out of the bullpen, begging her lungs to just take in one deep breath. She had darted to the only place she could think of that was within reach, the cribs.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Liv, is it the case?" he asked, sympathy and worry filling each word. He slowly sat down next to her, leaving room for her to still feel as if she wasn't being crowded. "If it's too much, there's no shame in that. Everyone has their limits."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She just stared at the floor, counting the lines engraved into the concrete. Her lips were swollen from the assault of her teeth, the panic-stricken response to her worst anxieties. How was she supposed to unload this on him? She did her best to carry the weight herself, to walk through life knowing it would always be on her shoulders.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Maybe it was the case, or maybe it was because she had assigned herself to bear the shame and the guilt. Maybe it was just getting to heavy, especially after throwing herself into the ring of it all.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>They let the silence hang long enough for her to finally come back to reality. She didn't want to tell him, but he'd find out eventually. Better it come from her instead of someone else.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Elliot," she whispered, her voice gravelled from the lump in her throat. She looked up at him with numb but tearful eyes. "I'm the product of my mother's rape."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He stared at her with the same gaze that everyone did when they first heard. Trying to process something that no brain should even be capable of processing. He watched and waited as she allowed herself to hear her own words. She had only ever said them outloud a few times, but every time struck her just as hard.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Your life is so much more than the photos on the corkboard, Olivia." he whispered.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Her brows furrowed as she let the words rain down on her. In the oddest way, his response was a breath of fresh air. Not because he was confirming something she already knew. Rather, it was the one response that varied from every single other response she had been given. No overwhelming sympathy, no pity, no garden-variety string of words that she had heard too many times before.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>For once, the response was what she had been searching for.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He didn't belittle her or suddenly look at her as if she were someone he had never known before. No kid gloves.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Unwavering validation that didn't make her any less of who she was before he knew her past.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"That girl..." she scoffed, slowly shaking her head. "I've looked over my mother's case a thousand times, I remember every word of it. The tapes, the pictures, the evidence. But that girl, she looks so much like my mother did at that age. God, you'd think they were the same person. I don't know— it just got to me."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Whatever you decide you want to do, I'll back your play. If you want to have Munch and Jeffries take over the case, I'm fine with that. If you wanna keep working it, I'm fine with that too."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>How was it possible for someone's voice to be so damn calming? The tone of his words brought on a safety blanket she had never quite felt before.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I'm a big girl, Elliot." she sniffled, wiping away her tears.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I know," he smirked. "That's why I'm almost certain you're gonna tell me that you wanna power through the case and close it." he rested his hand gently on her back as she chuckled along with him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She finally looked up, finding herself face to face once again with those tantalizing soft blue eyes. She liked the way his smile reached his eyes.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His other arm opened to her, and she accepted the offer of a much needed embrace. As soon as her head rested against his shoulder, the remaining tension in her body released. She forced herself not to grip him tighter, fearing she may never let go.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She didn't want to let go.</em>
</p><p>But times had changed, and with it, they had changed. For the time being, and maybe for the rest of time, his hand was no longer steading her back as she sobbed against the bunk. There was no warmth of a hug with the one person who never failed to make her feel safe.</p><p>But she remembered that day and how she had managed to pull herself together and get back to work. She could do it again. She'd have to. Doing it without him seemed impossible, but she had grown. She had changed.</p><p>And she hated change.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter Eighteen - Consolation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Less than sixty days.</p><p>Words she would forever be grateful to hear.</p><p>In fact, less than forty days. In fact, only three weeks.</p><p>Miracles.</p><p>She had spent the better half of the entire morning staring at the little glass bottles, 'Menopur' written in soft green letters. Oddly enough, she wasn't as intimidated by the bottles as she expected herself to be. The needles on the other hand still sparked a little bit of fear into her.</p><p>She had gotten lucky, <em>extremely </em>lucky since her cycle was almost perfectly timed to begin the process as quickly as possible. The less time chemo was postponed, the better.</p><p>Two weeks of hormones, followed by a trigger injection, and if the perfect timing holds true, then the retrieval.</p><p>She forced herself not to think about what life would become after the process was done. She'd need to go back to being face to face with a full-fledged tragedy. No safety net in between, no barrier that kept that life at least an arm's length away. Anyone who was looking at her through the looking glass would believe that IVF was just a way for her to push this demon down a little longer.</p><p>But the bottles gave her hope.</p><p>She couldn't help but to laugh at the irony. Some people drowned their fears in bottles of liquor during their worst moments. Then there was her, who was investing that fear into faith, an entirely different bottle with an entirely different purpose. Faith the size of a mustard seed could grow into a mountain, and hope was just the same.</p><p>The specialist had taught her the spots of her body where she could inject the drugs. Stomach, thighs, upper arm, lower back. She would become bruised and sore from the constant jabs and stabs of the needles, but she was already used to the consistent bruise that grew in the junction of her right arm. Blood work was becoming a second nature, and surely this would too. She could handle the two injections twice a day for two weeks.</p><p>If she couldn't handle that...</p><p><em>"No,"</em> her conscience whispered. There was no 'if', not about IVF or chemo or any sort of upcoming battle. She wasn't allowed to have 'if's or 'but's. She would die on this hill if she was forced to. She'd taken her stance, it would stay that way.</p><p>The sound of plastic crinkling filled her ears. As she pulled the syringe out of its sterile packaging, she felt her muscles stiffening. The needle underneath of the safety cap was a hell of a lot more intimidating than the medication itself. Forced deep breaths filled her lungs, a mantra in her head repeating that she could do this, she was strong enough.</p><p>The cap rolled against the granite as she punctured the top of the bottle, holding it close to her eye as she measured the dose. She tried to focus on the contrast between the bottle and the needle. The calmness that came with one and the fear that came with the other. One wouldn't work without the other, she had to feel the pain in order to receive the gift.</p><p>That was just how it worked.</p><p>As if she weren't already on edge, the sound of a knock on the door behind her had startled her. She re-capped the syringe before slamming it down on the counter.</p><p>She headed towards the door with a deep breath, "Casey, I know you're worried and I appreciate it but I promised you that I was fi—<em> oh,</em>" she whispered, opening the door to see Elliot standing sheepishly in front of her. "How'd you get in?"</p><p>"The neighbor recognized me..." he paused, pursing his lips. "Can I come in?"</p><p>She hesitated for a moment, leaning against the open door. "That depends," she whispered cautiously. "I'm really not interested in hearing about the hundred different ways that I'm royally screwing up my life."</p><p>He closed his eyes, bowing his head with an exhale. "That's not why I'm here, Liv. I came to apologize."</p><p>She stared at him, searching within his expression for any hint that she was walking into a trap. She was tired of the fighting. Enough in her life had already changed, the idea of destroying their partnership any further only brought more pain.</p><p>His eyes were always his tell. He had a stellar poker-face around the people who didn't know him, but she always knew exactly where to look. At least this time there was sincerity in those eyes.</p><p>Wordlessly, she stepped away from the door and gestured for him to come in. He quietly thanked her, stepping into the kitchen as she shut the door behind him. He instantly spotted the injection set-up she had laid out on the counter. "Uh... what are you doing?"</p><p>"It's my IVF injections." her words came emotionless as she stepped around him, avoiding making eye-contact in fear that it would only spark another argument. "Today's my first day. Two injections, twice a day for fourteen days." she picked up the loaded syringe again, removing the cap and flicking her finger against it to pop any bubbles.</p><p>"Here," he reached his hand out. "Let me do it."</p><p>Her brows shot upwards in confusion. "Like hell am I gonna let you stab a needle in my ass!" she laughed. Instantly, she realized how strange it felt to actually laugh. She wanted to savor it, even if it were for just a second.</p><p>"C'mon, Liv. We both know you're freaked out right now." he chuckled back, grabbing an alcohol swab package and tearing it open with his teeth.</p><p>She held the needle away from him. "What the hell qualifies you to do this?" she laughed again, allowing herself to feel the warmth of even just the sliver of happiness.</p><p>He tilted his head, sticking his hand out again. "Just turn around."</p><p>She wasn't sure exactly what convinced her to hand him the needle and turn her back to him, but her body moved at its own volition. She braced her hands on the countertop, allowing her head to fall forward as she took another deep breath.</p><p>His fingers carefully lifted up the hem of her shirt to reveal a patch of olive-toned skin on her lower hip. He took the cotton swab, gingerly wiping away the area. His voice came soft in her ear, bringing her a calmness she wasn't aware she even remembered. "Kathy had gestational diabetes with the twins and needed insulin. Trust me, I'm good at this. A little too good, actually."</p><p>She could hear the smirk in his voice, causing her to chuckle and roll her eyes.</p><p>"What's so funny, Benson?" his voice rising in faux shock as he started to position the syringe.</p><p>"Well," she tilted her head, thankful that her hair was draping down enough to cover her smile. "You have a very sharp needle pointing directly at my ass, so it's probably best if I don't answer that."</p><p>"Good choice," he said as he pushed the needle into her skin.</p><p>She hissed through her teeth, biting her lip as she tried to breathe through the stinging pain in her skin. He pressed a cotton ball to her skin as soon as the needle was gone, gently massaging the skin until the pain subsided.</p><p>She felt his arm reach around her for the bandage on the counter, replacing the cotton ball with it. "Good as new," he whispered.</p><p>As soon as she heard him speak, she knew the moment of happiness was over. Not that it really qualified as happiness, but maybe just normalcy. The banter that came with the honest intention of comfort.</p><p>She turned to face him, practically pinned between his body and the countertop. "Thank you," she whispered back.</p><p>It was a peace offering and she knew it. She knew he wasn't a man of words as much as he was a man of action. A simple favor being so much more than just that beneath the surface. A man who preferred to show his apologies through actions, but he hadn't yet apologized.</p><p>She knew everything he had said was said out of fear. It was said with shame and the inability to control himself. Not that it took away any of the pain from what he said. She could forgive him, eventually. That didn't mean that the words wouldn't haunt her from now until her last breath.</p><p>He finally stepped away, allowing for her to follow him over to the barstools. He sat down with his shoulders sinking, burying his head in his hands.</p><p>The silence didn't bother her. Not really. Not when it was compared to how the last few encounters with him had been.</p><p>He took one more of a million deep inhales, turning his head to finally look at her. His words came cautiously, carefully calculated to make ensure he wouldn't do more damage. "I will never be okay with the idea of you being at risk... or sick. But I was wrong. Everything I said was so outta line and you don't deserve that. This isn't about what I want or what I think is best. This is about what you need to do in order to be at peace with what is happening, and I'm sorry I was negating that."</p><p>"Elliot... I need you to know that I didn't keep this from you because I don't trust you. I kept it from you because I couldn't be the one who..." who what? Broke him? Cracked off another piece of his already shattering soul? "...hurt you. I couldn't do it." The breath that escaped was that of something helpless. A white flag risen in defeat to the fact that she wasn't able to do the deed. "You and I both look at each other as two people who have had enough shit handed to them in life, and don't ever even want to dare to be the one who adds more. I was trying to protect you."</p><p>"You don't have to be alone, Liv." His voice shivered, a chill as cold as ice that was woven into the fear of his words. His tearful eyes pleading with her. "I don't want you to be alone. Not now, not ever, but especially not like this... and it kills me knowing that I played a part in making you feel alone."</p><p>Her mouth opened and closed, giving nothing but a heavy breath as she fought to bring the words to the surface. "I just... I need room to make decisions for myself, whether or not they're for the best. Because, I promise you, if I'm making a decision, then I've usually thought about that decision in every shape or form. Hell, I'll think it in and out, upside down, until it barely even qualifies as a thought anymore."</p><p>"I know..."</p><p>"You can't walk in front of me on this journey, El, but you can walk beside me. You can help me through it, you can be the one who keeps me from being alone, but it isn't a battle that can be fought for me. I'd say that I wish it was, but I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy." she carefully leaned closer to him. "You gotta let me do the fighting."</p><p>"I know that. I just," he stopped, scrubbing his palms against his face. "I just want to make this all go away and I don't know how."</p><p>The break in his voice, the hurt that she could hear from a million miles away, it was crushing every ounce of her.</p><p>"I know the feeling," she murmured, her head hanging low. Her head shook ever so slightly, a broken cry finally breaking through her expression. "But there just isn't a way to snap your fingers and make it go away." she sniffled, not bothering to wipe away the tears that started to run down her cheeks.</p><p>She had seen the beginning of him breaking. The watery eyes and the inability to stay still. But it was a rare occurrence to see him actually break. The final moment where the dam cracks open and attempting to hold it back is futile. He wasn't a cryer. His tears, as rare as they were, fell along with the water in the shower. They soaked his pillow at night. They did not fall when vulnerability was as ripe as it was, not if he had any say in it.</p><p>Watching him cry was foreign to her. She'd occasionally teared up in his presence, before her life had become what it was now; a million lifetimes ago. A case once in a while, or a family matter. But seeing him cry, there were no words to explain what it stirred within her chest.</p><p>"I don't wanna lose you, Liv." he wept.</p><p>And the dam broke.</p><p>With a rapid breath, she launched out of her chair and wrapped her arms around him before she could stop herself. Her eyes squeezed tighter than they'd ever had before, begging herself to just be able to console him without letting herself break in the process. Her right hand pressed his head against her neck while her left hand gripped his back, holding him as his sobs came in unwavering rounds. She felt him shutter against her, his shaking arms wrapping around her waist, gripping as if his life depended on it; as if the feeling of her against his skin was the only reminder to him that she was still alive.</p><p>Hugging him was always powerful. The rare, break-in-case-of-emergency gesture had become like a drug to her. It was the one and only action she could ever count on to soothe any peril in her body, heal any emotional wound she was battling. She preferred that she stay unaccustomed to it for fear she would become addicted to the way he held her. But any time she had ended in his arms had given her the feeling that she belonged absolutely nowhere else.</p><p>She had never been the one to hug him. The idea had always seemed unorthodox. Not now, though. Not when he was crumbling beneath her fingertips. Not when his body was shivering against hers with grief and fear. He was the one who had always held the reins. Only now his cries came uninhibited, a side of him she had never witnessed, or ever thought she would witness. It only cracked her further, granting her own tears permission to continue falling.</p><p>"You're not gonna lose me," she whispered, swaying with him flush against her chest. She turned her head to rest on top of his.</p><p>She couldn't bring herself to think that this was out of character for him. Not really. Nobody knows how someone will react in such a situation. Any reaction could be entirely out of left field and still be authentic.</p><p>He wasn't a cryer.</p><p>Or maybe he was.</p><p>
  <em>'Be who she needs you to be.'</em>
</p><p>She may have feared the addiction of his grasp would become unbearable, but her discomfort would always send her searching for him. Sometimes it was something small enough to tide her over. Her fingers underneath the door, resting on his. But sometimes that wasn't good enough. Sometimes she needed the whole dose of the anxiolytic that was his touch.</p><p>She never once thought that it was mutual.</p><p>With his head against her chest, he could hear the heavy thumping of her heartbeat in his ears.</p><p>Usually she needed him. Sometimes he needed her. </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter Nineteen - Midnight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Her back was aching like never before. She wasn't sure if it was because of the injection sites that were adding up on her hips or because of the raggedy mattress in the cribs. She wanted to believe it was the latter, at least that way she could complain about it and not feel guilty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was still on desk duty, </span>
  <em>
    <span>sort of.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Call it a special circumstance. They were on call for the rest of the night. Apparently rapists and murderers didn't have any respect for the fact that she was a human being who still required sleep. She wasn't sleeping that much anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now it was all left down to time. A young girl kidnapped, Mary Johansson. A run of the mill ransom abduction of a child from an affluent family. There wasn't much else to do other than to wait around for the next call. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cragen had told her to go home about seven times, but she had resisted. By midnight, he could see the exhaustion in her weary eyes and made a deal that if she were to stay, she had to at least try to grab some rest in the cribs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which led to where she was, lying in the pitch black on a scratchy blanket. Waiting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt so similar to the first two weeks of being away from work. Staring at her bedroom ceiling, counting how many times the fan spun around in a minute, losing track, and starting again. Only now, she was staring at the grates that supported the bunk above her, counting each metal slat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only difference was that she wasn't alone this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're thinking pretty loudly over there." Elliot said from the bed beside her. He turned and curled on his side, smirking at her in the dark. The reflection from the window caught his eyes, giving her a better vision of where he was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I could say the same. You don't seem all that tired." she retorted, quietly laughing under her breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know how these cases get. Sleep is pointless. The adrenaline is enough to keep someone awake for a week." he said, rolling back to being flat on his back. He folded his hands together, resting them on his chest with a wistful exhale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even in the chaos, there was bliss. In a dark and damp room with the scent of metal. The faint sound of traffic drifting in through the window panes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A home away from home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So why are you even trying to sleep?" she asked, her voice barely rising above a whisper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes she liked to close her eyes and just imagine that the cribs was actually a cabin. Somewhere far away, where the city lights didn't shine so brightly. She'd mentally put a fireplace in the corner, crackling with embers as the flames light the room. The scent of metal replaced by fresh air and cedar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could be anywhere if she wanted to be. If she just closed her eyes and didn't let the dark scare her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She already knew his answer because it was the same answer she would've given. Because they were only human and the tension in the room during those situations always felt as if it were going to combust. Because if they didn't take a moment to breathe in some air that wasn't tainted with stress and fear, they would fall apart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just needed a break, I guess." he responded. She could hear him shrug his shoulders against the sheets, and she could already imagine the blank stare on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hated these cases. She knew her partner inside and out, she knew his greatest weaknesses and strengths. She knew just how badly he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs when a case came in involving a child. Even one as cut and dry as this one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But even with how much she prided herself in knowing him, she was still oblivious to the fact that sometimes, being around </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> was his comfort. Not the moment of stepping away and finally taking that first deep breath after drowning. Her atmosphere, her radiance, her environment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just the way she was the calmness inside the eye of the storm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or maybe because she was the storm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are the parents still here?" she asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded before realizing she couldn't see him in the darkness. "Yup. Can't blame 'em. We've been in this situation a million times but it never gets easier." he rolled back on his side to look at her. "Why is that?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could hear the longing in his question, the endless search of why time and experience hadn't numbed the agony. She considered the idea that he only subjected himself to this so it would take away the nightmares. If he exposed himself to it on the logistical side, the savior side, it couldn't hurt him. But he was wrong. They all were. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's always their first time. Not ours. Our jobs require empathy, the only way we can get the job done is to feel it as if it were us." she murmured, barely even listening to the words coming out of her own mouth. It was all on instinct; the answers to the questions that they rarely ever asked. She'd never really pondered, but she still knew the answer as if it were sitting on the surface of her soul.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I thought..." he trailed off, struggling with his words. "I thought it would get easier. Y'know? That it would become a second nature. Sometimes I think it is. Then I just see the terror on their faces and it's like it's my first case all over again." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wanted to listen to the way he spoke. He wasn't a man of many words, certainly not a man of many visible emotions. Hearing him open up was always a welcomed event. She never wanted to be too eager for him to talk, but she always wanted to listen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I get it," she whispered back. How many times had a victim found out they were infected with something from their attacker? How many times did a solved case just lead to further trauma? They saved the day, but they never saved the aftermath. She understood the terror. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Diego Benitez had cancer. She'd saved him and his mother's lives but she remembered his mother's tearful eyes as the news had sunk in with her that her baby was sick. She always thought she understood the terror that she saw, but until she began to go through it herself, she realized she had barely ever even scratched the surface of understanding. Not until it was her skin, her life, her experience. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She understood now. Those parents out there, terrified out of their minds as they wait in the bullpen, she understood the pit in their stomachs. She understood the clammy palms and refractory emotions. Their lives were upside down. She hated that she understood. It made her a better cop, but it made the rest of her different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The situations may not have aligned. They were in two different boats on two different paths and yet, she empathized with them in a way she hadn't even been aware was humanly possible. Terror was terror. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence filled the room again, blanketing itself over them. They both knew where the conversation was heading, but neither of them wanted to step into it. She knew the curiosity burned on the tip of his tongue, waiting for her to give any sort of sign that it was okay to ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How do you do it?" he asked, his voice nearly shaking. "How do you cope, Liv?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She closed her eyes again, pretending to inhale the scent of pine in her imaginary cabin. Nothing, not even her own hypothetical thoughts could hurt her there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How do you cope with terror standing beside you, wherever you go, whatever you do? How do you go day after day knowing that the sweet release of reuniting with safety isn't coming in the near future? Those parents out there, they will see their child by the next nightfall, they will feel that relief and their terror will subside. Her's won't. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ask me again once I've done it," she whispered, feeling a tear stinging in the corner of her eye. She didn't cope. She just existed on the sole plane she was forced to be on. She woke up, she went to sleep. What else could she do? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To them, she would be made out to be a hero, a survivor. She was; there was no disparaging that. She just didn't see that in the mirror. There was no handbook, no instruction booklet on just how exactly she was supposed to make her way out of this. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ask me again once I learn to cope.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The terror, it had become a friend. Well, maybe more like a neighbor. Anything was better than the idea of it becoming herself. Like any elephant in the room, she couldn't ignore it. She tried. She did what she could do.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ask me again when I've survived.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn't a hero yet. She walked the halls of Sloan Kettering. She woke up in the morning. She forced herself to come back to work. She was subject to radioactive imagery. She just kept living. The real question seemed to be, how does she cope with the impending doom?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How do you breathe?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ask me again when I've made it to the other side.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Right now, she was just surviving the sympathy. The looks, the whispers, the changes in her life. Was there even a choice? The train didn't stop, it just keeps moving. Life doesn't pause for anybody, let alone her. What did they think she was doing? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deep inside her, she envied those parents sitting out in the bullpen, crying into soiled tissues. She envied the fact that they would see the light again. They would lift their head above the water and breathe once more. She was stuck. The hand of her disease holding her under the tide until she kicked and screamed for breath. Their battle would be over soon, maybe even before the sun rose. She would suffocate long after. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hated the envy. It wasn't a good color on her. Every psychoanalyst around the world would tell her it was perfectly understandable to envy someone in a situation where the outcome would be different. She didn't want to be that person. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Liv... You okay?" he asked, taking notice of her sudden silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She thanked the universe for the darkness, she didn't want to cry in front of him again. At least not for a while. "Just uh — just try to rest, El." she breathed, turning over to face the wall away from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her ears were ringing with the swirling of unfelt emotions. The prickle in her eye only grew stronger as she tried to contain the need to gasp out a sob. The ringing became so loud that she hadn't heard the sound of his bunk creaking, or the three steps he took over to her side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bed dipped beneath her back, inviting in the instinct for her to clamp her eyes shut. His hand rested gently against her shoulder blades, his touch practically lighter than air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bit down on her bottom lip, ever so slightly shaking her head as she internally chastised herself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Do not do this. Do not do this right now.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's gonna be okay, Liv." he whispered in a voice that was reserved just for her. The softness, almost childlike essence that had a sense of obviousness within it. He believed what he was saying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She just wasn't sure if she did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn't long before the exhaustion had caught up with her. She had drifted off into sleep before she even had time to realize how tired she was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the peace didn't last for long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moon had disappeared just as quickly as the sun had rose. The sunlight beaming through the windows hadn't woken her, but instead, the sounds coming from the bullpen. She quickly rubbed her fists over her eyes before pushing herself off the bottom bunk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The squadroom was filled with chaos as several officers entered. The sound of Mrs. Johansson's joyful sobs stood out the loudest. Olivia wasn't sure of what had happened or what she missed, but she made her way to the circle the other officers had formed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she stood next to Elliot, she watched the parents cradle their little girl, finally reunited after the longest 48 hours of their lives. Tears of praise and happiness spilled over, cries that thanked the God above them for bringing their baby home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In front of her was the display of exactly what she was searching for. Not the reunion or the fresh breath of air. The love. The moment that was suddenly cemented with an unforgettable rush of pure love. A mother's love, in its rawest form. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something stirred within her, breaking the confines of being deemed endearing. It was so much more than that. A tornado inside of her stomach, revitalizing every emotion she had forgotten existed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hand found Elliot's bicep, "You asked me how I cope." she whispered, barely taking her eyes off of the scene in front of her. Her brows raised, allowing the moment to describe the indescribable. "That's how." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someday, she would hold her own child with that same unearthly force. She would feel the breath of air that was coming with her, the catharsis and everything else. Her hand would find its way to her own flesh and blood and cradle it as if her life depended on it. She would feel what was in front of her; something so much more than just the definition of love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He understood what she meant. She didn't have to spell it out for him. He could see it in the unformed tears that were in her eyes. His head nodded slowly, letting the realization wash over him that Cragen was right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This would save her life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, they stood and watched. A moment to be savored; a moment of understanding and acceptance. A moment so much more than anyone could've ever expected. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That love would save her. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter Twenty - Desolation I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She stared at the familiar mahogany desk in front of her. She always liked to drag her vision along the carven lines and the intricate embellishments. In fact, she always found herself focused on them, rather than the rest of the room that still had medical equipment scattered around. The lightboxes and the reserved x-ray prints that were left from the last patient.</p><p>This time, the x-ray looked like a leg bone, and she makes a mental note of that.</p><p>She knew why she was here. She knew it had to be done. Even while she was still in the thick of fertility injections, she still had to pay some focus to what had led her here in the first place, and what she was going to do about it.</p><p>No imaging, no x-rays or ultrasounds, no tests. She was here for words. Braving the one thing she was scared the most of throughout this entire journey. The words she would never be able to un-hear. The logistical side of it all.</p><p>The attack plan she hadn't made yet.</p><p>In just a few days, she'd be forced to swing from one world to another. No more staving it off with the grasp of a dream. No more pretending, so blissfully pretending that she was bypassing a horror to get to the promise land.</p><p>Every soldier needs carefully laid plans of how they will go forth into war.</p><p>At least she found humor in it. She wasn't preparing an attack from some hidden barracks, she wasn't reading some confidential file about how she planned to win a battle. She was sitting across from a desk, forcing the moment to be as anti-climactic as possible. So simple, it was just going to be spoken words.</p><p>Promises that she would be forced to keep. A plan set in stone, no running. No escape. But she had to plan at some point, and the time that divided her from now until then was wearing thin.</p><p>"Sorry, my last patient's surgery ran a little longer than expected." Doctor Keller announced as he quickly rushed into his office.</p><p>She wasn't in a hurry. If he had told her that they'd need to reschedule because he was too busy, she would've run from the room without any protest. But she was here, waiting and wondering.</p><p>The clouds part, allowing a sliver of light to fall through the window and blanket itself upon them. It feels all too incredibly inappropriate, she isn't supposed to believe in the sun coming out. At least, not right now she isn't. She doesn't want the warmth on her skin or the light in her eyes. She wants the cold and the lonely dreck. She isn't supposed to want the darkness, but yet again, she wasn't supposed to have cancer either. Having hope was overrated... but losing it, well that was much worse.</p><p>Getting stuck between having hope and losing hope, that was where the agony was. The undecided vote, the winner takes it all. On the edge of her goddamn seat because she can't decide whether or not she wants to live in pain or die in peace. <em>Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both.</em> Her mother was a fucking literature professor for God's sake. Robert Frost would forever be ingrained into her mind.</p><p>She could practically hear her mother right now. <em>'Which road, Olivia?'</em></p><p>Some days she wants the light. Some days, she could be given the option to wither under its glare and she would make that choice without hesitance.</p><p>Some days were diamonds.</p><p>"How are the IVF injections going?"</p><p>Some days are stone.</p><p>"They're going well," she answers, monotone and as convincing as she could possibly be given the circumstances. Sure, her body was bruised to hell and the hot flashes practically left her in tears, but she wasn't dead yet.</p><p>She wanted a family, but as the days lingered on, she started to question her intentions with the choice she had made. She'd rather cover her ears and scream than to admit that Elliot had a point when he said that she could always adopt. Maybe it was because IVF was the only excuse she had to actually postpone the reality of her situation.</p><p>She was losing sight of her reasoning and she hated it. Too many conflicting voices telling her every right and wrong decision she was making and why she was making them. Some women didn't want children and that's okay, but she did want children. At the very least, she wanted the chance to be reserved.</p><p>He sighed, folding his arms in front of himself on the desk. "We have to talk about your treatment plan." Shocker. She was losing energy faster than she could make it and pretty much all she wanted to contribute to the conversation was a yes or no answer about whatever he was going to tell her she needed to do.</p><p>"We have a few different options in front of us, which is good news."</p><p>Good news. Please. She'd said it before and she'd say it again, there was no such thing as good news right now. What she had was scenarios, best case amongst the worst case. She bit her tongue and stayed silent, nodding when the moment called for it and listening with a fraction of her attention. She knew it was an insolent way of behaving, but quite frankly, she didn't care.</p><p>"A lot of patients with this type of cancer, or any breast cancer for that matter, choose to do a mastectomy. Either single or double, it usually depends on how severe the cancer is and if it's localized enough."</p><p>Would it be rude to close her eyes? She could just let him say whatever it is he was supposed to say and she could just be there as a witness. No. That was dumb. She needed to listen.</p><p>"But, usually when we perform mastectomies, we still recommend a round of radiation and chemotherapy, post-op. That way we know we've done everything we can to eliminate any traces of malignant cells."</p><p>The sunlight that had shone through the window was gone, and she was starting to regret taking it for granted. Each word he spoke came with a new shade of darkness as the sun fell behind a cloud.</p><p>"In other cases, we do a less invasive surgery by removing the tumors, which we also almost always follow with radiation and chemotherapy. It's a bit more difficult with Ductal Carcinoma since it grows less like a tumor and more like scattered cells, but it isn't impossible."</p><p>Great, more optimism.</p><p>Each word felt like a brick being thrown in her direction, bracing herself for the next impact. The faster he could give her the options, the faster this would be over. One blow after another and she could barely stop herself from gripping the edge of the seat.</p><p>Never once had she ever thought that the mutilation of her body would be a conversation she'd be having. Which direction to slice the scalpel in, how much of herself to cut away.</p><p>But it wasn't herself. It used to be. She understood how cancer worked. It was good cells morphing into bad cells. It wasn't always a golf ball growing into the size of a baseball. Sometimes it was spiderwebs, spreading, not growing. One cell didn't grow larger, the cells around it turned over and changed alongside it.</p><p>All of those cells once belonged to her.</p><p>"The less common option would be chemotherapy and radiation alone. It's less likely to work as well. It's more strenuous on your body because it really has no assistance without surgery."</p><p>Pick a card, any card.</p><p>She felt a wave of nausea run through her and for no other reason other than the fact that she was overwhelmed. Could she let go now? Were the bombs going to continue to drop? Would she have to keep taking cover until he said his piece?</p><p>It was futile to fight off the urge to shut her eyes. She didn't like to make life-changing decisions when she could still see her current life around her. At least if she closed her eyes and saw nothing but the darkness behind her eyelids, she could imagine the outcome of her choice.</p><p>"And... in your professional opinion?" she asked, voice cracking as she physically forced the words out. Another bomb, take cover. Hide under the table, close your eyes, count your breaths but don't breathe too much or too fast. One more stone would be turned, one more moment she could never go back from.</p><p>"In my professional opinion..." he stopped, blowing air through his lips as if this was just as hard for him as it was for her. "I almost always would recommend a mastectomy. Especially if my patient ends up testing positive for HBOC."</p><p>She rolled her eyes behind her closed lids. "You're speaking greek to me, Doc. What's HBOC?"</p><p>"Hereditary Breast and Ovarian Cancer Syndrome. We often test two genes for mutations, BRCA1 and BRCA2, in most cases when a patient tests positive for either gene mutation, they have a much higher risk for developing breast and ovarian cancers. It helps us in the long run, especially when we aren't very familiar with a... patient's family history."</p><p>
  <em>"She's got the right idea, leave the father's side blank. That'll mess 'em up."</em>
</p><p>Fuckin' Munch. Ah, he didn't know any better.</p><p>She heard the decline in Keller's tone. He'd spoken too fast, too quick to recognize when he should start walking on eggshells. He knew the gist of her background, or lack of. Even now, having found Simon and figuring out what she could about who the other 50% of her was, she'd never know the entire truth. She'd never know which aunts or cousins or grandparents had been sitting in the same chair, talking about options as if they were orders on a take out menu.</p><p>"Have I been tested?" she asked, cautiously awaiting for another bombshell. Who would've ever thought she'd learn more about herself in the middle of a cancer institute rather than a family photobook?</p><p>"We're still waiting on the results. But... if you don't want to do a mastectomy, that is your choice, Olivia. We can go in and remove as much of the cancer as we can and go from there. The difference is that if you do end up testing positive for the gene mutations, it also raises the likelihood of the cancer returning."</p><p>She gulped away the threat of building tears. "You've looked at my scans," her voice was thick as she sniffed away as much of her visible emotions as possible. Her brows furrowed, and her eyes were pulled back down to the engravings on the desk. "Do you have any confidence that a lumpectomy would be worth pursuing instead of a mastectomy?"</p><p>God, who was she? Why was she having this conversation? When the hell did the world turn upside down and when did this become so normal to her. It hurt, it hurt like hell. But it was becoming normal and that scared her almost more than the entire idea of cancer.</p><p>She knew what she was asking. She was asking him just how much of herself would need to be lobbed off in order to give herself a fighting chance. She'd been defiant before, begging to postpone everything for IVF, against all recommendation. She had known that waiting was her one and only 'get out of jail free' card. Whatever came after that, she'd need to listen to.</p><p>
  <em>How much of myself do I need to lose?</em>
</p><p>She didn't want to wake up with bandages on her chest and the weight of the world replacing the weight that she was used to. It sounded naïve, even in her own head, it sounded almost selfish. But she also didn't want to sacrifice a part of herself if she didn't have to.</p><p>
  <em>Two roads diverged in a wood, and I — I took the one less traveled by.</em>
</p><p>"I think that choosing the route of a lumpectomy versus mastectomy could be worth it." he said in a near whisper. "If your genetics screening comes back normal and your risk for relapse drops dramatically following, then it's worth trying to save what tissue we can."</p><p>She'd taken the sunlight for granted and now it was gone and she was cold. She'd taken a lot for granted.</p><p>"So..." she whispered with a breath. Her eyes finally stayed open long enough to stare sadly at him from across the mahogany desk with the engravings that she loved so much. "We do surgery, then follow it with chemotherapy and radiation?"</p><p>Plans were plans, she'd need them no matter what. Postponing plans never meant ending them. It never meant turning them away entirely. It was a pause. But with every pause came a resumption.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He was knocking on her door and even if she hadn't been expecting him, she would've recognized the sound of his fist on the door. She opened to see him with a soft smile and a case of beer in his hand.</p><p>Wordlessly, he breezed past her as he let himself into the apartment. Though it was the strangest circumstance, it was becoming a ritual. Even in the turmoil of the day she had experienced, she allowed herself to gently smile as she closed the door behind him.</p><p>He did what he always did now; he walked past her, set their drinks down, and made his way over to the station she had set up on the counter of the kitchen island. He knew why he was there, she knew why he was there, it didn't need to be said.</p><p>When she turned back around to see him, he was spinning on his heel to face her. The syringe in his hand ejected droplets of medication as he flicked the bubbles out of the tube. Ever since he had become her designated nurse, he'd acted as if it were his job. He'd crack a joke each time, knowing it was dumb and childish but that it made her smile.</p><p>"Whadd'ya say, huh? Ready to make a baby?" he chuckled, his eyes softening as he did so.</p><p>She cringed but she laughed, just as she always did. At least it wasn't his usual variation of a <em>'knock knock, who's there, Ben, Ben who, Ben Dover'</em> joke. But even though he looked at her with that big, goofy grin while he held her liquid gold in his hands, and she hated that she'd have to tell him all about her treatment plan, she still smiled at him. She soaked in the moment that was less than three seconds and just <em>watched.</em></p><p>
  <em>I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter Twenty One - Desolation II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>'Patiently awaiting' was not how she would word it.</p><p>Struggling to breathe while the crushing reality of a life or death situation was sitting on her chest was a much, much better explanation.</p><p>She'd done what she could for the time being — her own definitions of waiting patiently. She'd stared at the blank screen of her phone for hours, waiting for the call. She'd gone to work, managing to make a dent in her pile of paperwork, and everyone else's for that matter. Desk duty left her antsy, but not nearly as much as the wait did. She'd paced back and forth through the hallway of her building, sometimes managing to go for a walk around the corner when her body would allow for it.</p><p>The exhaustion, she could feel it becoming stronger. She didn't want to admit it, but she knew that it was her body's way of growing tired of fighting; the fight hadn't even started yet.</p><p>It was only a matter of time before she took the situation into her own hands. Doctor Keller had been the one who had said that having a family history would make life, and her diagnosis, much easier.</p><p>The light is shining through her apartment, and once again, it feels inappropriate.</p><p>Her world was becoming dark again. Every day that she inched closer to the end of her IVF round, she felt the reality seeping further. Though, she'd had a good run, a solid few weeks of something less than misery.</p><p>She suspected that it would be the last good run she'd have for a long time.</p><p>Even in the light, she feels the darkness.</p><p>As much as she wanted to avoid the reality of her future, the feeling of anticipation outweighed the fear. Waiting another minute before receiving the test results of her genetic screening felt like wasting valuable time. Taking control was something she had the ability to do, so why not?</p><p>There was one more person she'd need to tell. She'd made the plans, she'd carefully mapped out every word, despite already knowing she would veer off the tracks. She always did. These conversations didn't come with an instruction booklet. She'd get emotional and so would he and it would feel like the end of the world even though the Earth kept turning.</p><p>But answers were more important than secrets, and her life depended on those answers.</p><p>She checked the clock and checked again, almost certain that time was simply not moving forward. Every few minutes when the anxiety would rise again, she'd glance at the glass bottles on her counter and feel just the slightest bit of relief.</p><p>Elliot had offered to stay with her for this and she had declined. She couldn't bring herself to tell him that she didn't trust him to not escalate this further than it needed to be. He didn't mind, he had expected her to say no. Benson, always the one who could do it on her own.</p><p>That didn't cease his worries though.</p><p>He knew she was pacing, he knew she was shivering with worry. <em>You don't have to be alone, Liv.</em> He'd meant it. He'd meant it with his entire soul when he'd said it. He'd wasted time being angry, valuable time that they were clinging to, wasted by being angry and petty and selfish.</p><p>She'd told him not to worry, she could handle this. He believed her, he just didn't believe himself. She could handle this, but maybe he couldn't.</p><p>So, he waited. He watched, and he waited.<em> Just in case.</em></p><p>She didn't need to know.</p><p>"Simon," she breathed, a ghost of a smile forming on her lips as her brother stood on near the threshold of her door. She thought she was done with the smiles. Those goddamn smiles on their faces that she knew she'd need to break apart eventually. They always smiled when they greeted her, completely unaware of any pain she was harboring.</p><p>She blamed herself. She should've told him sooner.</p><p>"It's been a long time, Liv." he chuckled, running his hands anxiously down the front of his jeans. "Can I give you a hug?" he asked, apprehensive of the unspoken boundaries of their messy, entangled relationship.</p><p>Without hesitation, she opened her arms and welcomed him in. It wasn't the familiarity she had been searching for, but it was always a strange sensation when she hugged him. Nine long years since her mother had taken her final breath. Yet, there she was, hugging a blood relative.</p><p>"Oh, it's been too long, Big Sis." he says against her shoulder as he embraces her. She sniffs in an attempt to laugh, the nickname drives her insane but yet it still stirs something endearing within her. But she doesn't have the energy to laugh. For a brief, wandering moment, she wonders if she'll ever have the energy to laugh again.</p><p>"You look good, Si." she grins, examining every line on his face, trying to memorize them while she still has the time. "C'mon in," she steps aside and motions towards the living room. She can sense how antsy he is, he always is.</p><p>She can hear the thunder cracking in the distance as he walks in. The light of the sun setting still bled through the curtains but she knew it wouldn't be long before it was filtered by the fog that would blanket the city. The clouds would turn grey soon and she would welcome them with open arms. A storm felt more appropriate. Less guilt about ruining a beautiful evening.</p><p>She stared at the back of him as she closed the door behind herself. He looked around the apartment, taking in the scene. She just wanted a moment to watch him, to examine him. The way he stood with his hands in his pockets. The curly cowlicks in the back of his hair.</p><p>She didn't want to hurt him.</p><p>Hurting him felt… <em>different</em>. It shouldn't, but it did. At this rate, her job was just as much of her family as he was, if not more. But there was a difference in the pain this time. Maybe because someday, everyone in the precinct could pack up and leave as if none of it ever happened. Simon was blood. Even if they didn't want to be, they were stuck together.</p><p>Two fucked up childhoods that split and grew in different directions. Hurting him felt like hurting herself.</p><p>"Can I get you anything? A drink?" she offered, trying to fill the awkward silence between them. She turned towards the kitchen, seeing the suddenly missing station of IVF injectables that had taken up residence on her countertop. She'd stuffed the bottles in the cabinet drawers a few minutes before he was expected to show up.</p><p>"No, no I'm all set, thank you," he waved his hands theatrically, taking a seat on the couch as she followed in suit.</p><p>
  <em>Why don't you go talk to Marsden?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And say what? "Hi, I'm Olivia. Your dad raped my mom." And, "Oh, I found you because I illegally ran my DNA."</em>
</p><p>Things could never be simple, could they?</p><p>
  <em>What are you gonna tell Simon when you see him?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>How do I even say it? "Long time no see. By the way, I have cancer and I need to dig up some old wounds of yours and ask if anyone in your family has had it too?"</em>
</p><p>She couldn't sit on the couch next to him. Too personal. Although, sitting in the chair next to him felt like it wasn't personal enough.</p><p>She just couldn't sit next to him on the same couch where they'd last been laughing to the point of tears.</p><p>'<em>Strawberry or chocolate ice cream?'</em></p><p>"<em>Strawberry."</em></p><p>'<em>Cap'n Crunch or Cocoa Puffs?'</em></p><p>"<em>Oh, Cap'n Crunch."</em></p><p>'<em>Dukes of Hazzard or Little House on the Prairie?"</em></p><p>"<em>Dukes!"</em></p><p>'<em>Quarters or Anchorman?'</em></p><p>It felt like a sin. Barely a few years later and this is where they were.</p><p>'<em>3 out of 3, it's in the blood.'</em></p><p>"Liv?" he pulled her out of her reverie. "You were about to say something and you just stopped."</p><p>"Oh, sorry," she exhaled, scraping her fingernails against the chair, snagging loose strands of the fabric with each tug. "I uh — How have you been?" her voice shivered as she spoke and she hated this more than she hated the days she had spent alone while under the covers crying.</p><p>"I'm good." he grinned, finally leaning back and allowing himself to loosen up a bit. "Yeah, I've got my old job back at the pharmacy. Lucy and I are doing good. Life has been better since…" he trailed off and she couldn't blame him.</p><p>Maybe she didn't have to tell him. Maybe she could just pretend like everything was fine and she wasn't in failing health. He didn't really need to know, did he? His life was good. Things were looking up for him. And it wasn't like they were all that close. Maybe she could run, just once, maybe she could run.</p><p>The pit in her stomach said otherwise.</p><p>"How about you?" he asked, staring through the long lashes that cradled his piercing aquamarine eyes. He didn't know yet, but he was knee-deep in a watershed moment, and she was the reason. "Things going okay for you?"</p><p>She stared at him with a bated breath, and she wondered if the floor was really swaying beneath her or if it was the onset vertigo of fear. Her bottom lip rests against the top row of her teeth and she can't push the words out, but she remembers that she doesn't need words. Not yet. All she has to do is shake her head and the rest would come naturally.</p><p>Right?</p><p>Granules of sand are falling through the hourglass and she's watching the decline in his face. He's catching on, as if her silence wasn't loud enough already. She sees it in him, the brace for impact. He knows now. He knows and the world is burning at her fingertips. Everything about the moment makes her feel as if she's in a warzone. How long until everything explodes? It can't be long until she's not looking at the smoke and ash in the air but she'll be looking at the pair of burnt boots in the middle of the road. Just another path of gasoline with a match thrown on it, another person scarred.</p><p>"I need to ask you something, Simon." she hears it, the hitch in her voice, the twitch in her diaphragm. She's becoming familiar with the feeling of being unable to breathe now, but each time still has her convinced she'll never breathe again.</p><p>He leans forward, another brace for impact and the mood has shifted within seconds. He can feel her fear, it's radiating off of her like embers of a wildfire. "What is it? What's wrong?" just from looking at him, she feels like he's ready to leap towards her and hold her. Once a little brother, always a little brother.</p><p>She forces herself to feel the inhalation of air, she needs to know that it's in her lungs and that she's not suffocating. She promised herself she would do this, despite whatever answer he gave. She'd have a 50% chance of hearing what she wanted to hear, even if it worked out differently in the end. The other 50% being used as a preparation for what was to come. "I need to know if any women on your dad's side of the family have had breast or ovarian cancer." she whispers because she can't raise her voice any louder without feeling as if she were choking.</p><p>The shift in his eyes is one she'll remember until her dying day. The light inside of them has turned off and they're looking more grey than blue now. His shoulders sink and she sees his knuckles turn white as he grips the couch cushions. He's doing what they all do, he's starting to shake his head. Slowly, and then all at once.</p><p>The thunder cracks again and the storm is moving closer. The setting sunlight was quickly replaced with the sparks of lightning that filled the sky.</p><p>She's back to wondering if it would be rude to close her eyes, but she can't. She forces herself to watch him, to witness what she was doing to him. She wanted the bruise on her soul, or at least she felt like she deserved it.</p><p>He sighs as he lifts his head to take a deep breath. "Not again. Please, not again." he whispers.</p><p>Her body turns as stiff as stone when his silenced prayer reaches her ears. "Again?" she grits out, her eyes blowing wide as she looks at him from her peripheral vision. "What do you mean 'again'?"</p><p>When he looks back at her, it's as if he expected her to already know. It was so easy for them to forget how different their lives were. Her heart is racing now and her eyes are glued to him like her life depends on it. He wasn't supposed to say this. He was supposed to shake his head and reassure her.</p><p>He wasn't supposed to say 'again'.</p><p>"My grandma, uh, on my dad's side, my dad's mom," his voice shuttered as if the memory had hit him in a wave. She could practically see the past fluttering through his eyes, stirring up the long since settled dust. "She had breast cancer. God, it was so many years ago, I was just a kid. Her and I, we... we were really close."</p><p>Her eyes close and she simply succumbs to the feeling of drowning. If there was a thought to consider, she wasn't thinking it. Blank and emptiness had wiped her mind clean for the moment. She wasn't sure how long it would last, maybe forever, but there was nothing. A forever of nothingness didn't seem so bad when she compared it to a forever of suffering.</p><p>If she were thinking logically, or thinking at all, she would know it was a response to shock. She received her answer, layers of it, in fact. Shock was normal. The ability to feel nothing… was <em>normal</em>. But she wasn't thinking. Not about the feeling of water in her lungs. Not about the fact that her little brother may have just slapped a death sentence on her. Nothing.</p><p>Her own little personal limbo.</p><p>But if she were thinking, though she wasn't, she would think about the fact that the shock wouldn't last forever. Maybe it would fade, maybe it would plunge her downward as if the rug had just been pulled from beneath her feet. But it wouldn't last. Not even long enough for her to decide whether or not she liked the numbness.</p><p>"Liv," Simon's voice broke through like shattered glass, and her limbo was intruded upon.</p><p>'<em>It helps us in the long run, especially when we aren't very familiar with a... patient's family history.'</em></p><p>She can feel his question hanging in the air. Everybody is asking her questions that she doesn't know the answers to and why the hell does this have to hurt so damn bad?</p><p>
  <em>Two roads diverged in a wood,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>and this isn't what she fucking signed up for.</em>
</p><p>"Simon, don't ask me," she winces, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her eyes close almost instinctively as her head shakes. Her breaths come in shivering waves and all she wants is for him to leave. For everybody to just leave. Please, please leave. Her breathing turns from shakes to sobs and she's fighting to keep the oxygen in long enough. Tears fall through closed eyes, dragging her mascara down with them. "Don't ask because I don't think I can physically say the words one more time." and she realizes once again just how badly a single word can hurt her soul.</p><p>It hits her that this was a mistake. She shouldn't have told him or even called him. She should've been ignorant, allowing herself the benefit of the doubt. Have her odds just increased dramatically? Is this it? Is this the answer she couldn't have waited for? She knew somewhere inside of herself that there was still a sliver of a chance that she'd be okay, but listening to the voice that was telling her that felt near impossible.</p><p>"Just tell me you're gonna be okay," he urges, gripping at his throat as if someone else's hand was already choking him. He isn't looking at her, but it doesn't matter because she isn't looking at him either. They're more like siblings than they thought, constantly battling with the inability to handle their own pain. If she looked at him now, it would be like looking in the mirror. She was positively sure that if she saw her reflection, especially through his eyes, the rest of her that was still intact would fall apart. Looking at him right now would just mean another way of facing the truth and all she wanted to do was be face down in a pillow.</p><p>"I don't know," comes her answer. She doesn't know; her confidence is shot. After that, after his revelation by proxy, how could she ever know?</p><p>His departure is a whirlwind to her. Stiff hugs but a tight grip as if it could very well be the last time. He doesn't look at her, she doesn't look at him, and any of the words spoken after her answer had refused to embed themselves into either of their memories. Maybe he told her to call him with an update, she isn't sure. The ringing in her ears was louder than her voice anyway.</p><p>She hears the thunder and the rain violently hitting her window, and she realizes the sun is gone for the evening. The street lights reflect off of the puddles, glaring in every angle as she looks out the window. Her hands brace against the frame of the window and she's desperately heaving for air. Tears falling down her cheeks at the same speed as rain, why is she alone? Why does this disease make her so alone?</p><p>She doesn't want to, and she hates herself for it, but she swipes her phone off of the counter while she still has enough consciousness to do so. She doesn't want to call him, but for once she wants to win something from this. Her freedom? Her ability to not be so damn alone for once?</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Her</strong>
  </em>
  <em> road less traveled.</em>
</p><p>Even with her eyes shut and swollen from the tears, she knows exactly where his contact is in her phone. She'd know it with her hands tied behind her back if she needed to. She fights off another wave of sobs while listening to the line trill. Two rings, it's always two rings before he picks up and hearing his voice feels like an ounce of heaven among multitudes of hell.</p><p>"Liv?"</p><p>"I know it's late and I know you're probably already at your apartment but Simon just left and I feel like I can't fucking breathe, Elliot. I just, I re—"</p><p>He cuts off her hysterics with his soft-spoken words. "Liv, look out your window."</p><p>She sniffles, keeping the phone pressed to her ear as she runs back over to the window. Through the blurry droplets on the glass, she can see him outside, drenched in rain as he leans against the outside of his car. "I never left."</p><p>She hears his voice in her ear but she sees his mouth moving from four flights down and it makes her dizzy with relief.</p><p>He's arrogant and cocky and sometimes he goes off half cocked, and she hates when he knows that he's right. He can be insufferable and pesky and even a little overprotective, but she knows that even from as far away as he is, he can see that she needs him. For once, the world doesn't make her spell it out. For once, the person she needs is already waiting.</p><p>He'd waited. He'd seen Simon leave, clearly on his own wrecked ship as he'd left Olivia's apartment. He'd waited, he'd watched as Simon came and went, and he waited for the inevitable.</p><p>She watches as he hangs up the phone and in a blur, she's buzzing him in and waiting for him to knock on the door. Only, he doesn't knock on the door this time. He knows it's open and he stands there for a moment that seems to bleed into an eternity. When he sees her, she's standing in the middle of the room with her phone pressed to her chest. Her face contorts into pure grief one last time before he's running across the room towards her.</p><p>Her phone drops to the floor in the collision and she lets out an uninhibited bawl as her head hits his chest. Her arms don't wrap around him, instead, they rest against his chest as she cocoons herself into his grasp. She can feel the wetness of the raindrops that had fallen on his jacket and they cool her burning hot cheeks. With each cry she's unable to hold back, he holds her tighter.</p><p>"I never left," he reiterates almost silently through his own shaky inhale. His chin rests on her head, bringing her almost impossibly closer. Her hands grip the fabric of his jacket, holding on as if her life depended on it. He's nearly swaying as he supports her weight against him, but the world itself has stopped spinning. The thunder continues to break through the sky and the rain keeps falling. But it's okay, because he didn't leave.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter Twenty Two - Desolation III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>song of the chapter : on the nature of daylight by max richter</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Usually, she was keen on going to doctor's appointments alone. For a while, she had considered it to be the easier option. Only, she had misconstrued the idea of what 'easy' had meant. Her version of 'easy' was taxing on her emotions, but simpler when it came to the people around her. It left her considering herself less of a burden.</p><p>After what happened when Simon had left, she didn't really give a shit about which version of easy she wanted. So, when Elliot had quietly offered to accompany her to the appointment, she hadn't turned him down. She didn't give much of a reply, actually. More or less a shrug and a whispered acceptance.</p><p>The exceptional light in her eyes, her signature feature, was gone. He had seen a switch flip inside of her as soon as he'd released her from the earth-shattering grip he'd held her in. He hadn't seen her way of life the first time, back when her diagnosis was still raw and vivid. She had sheltered everyone from that for a variation of time. The lack of light in her eyes back then was something that he had been spared from. This side of Olivia was new to him.</p><p>It terrified him to say the least.</p><p>That night, they had parted from the hug and moved to the couch. She didn't even need to explain herself, he knew what had happened. She'd cried herself to sleep against him that night, an image in front of him that he'd never thought he'd ever see. Her exhausted body limp against him as if she had just given a full-body exhale and refused to breathe in again.</p><p>He'd thrown her legs over his arms, careful not to wake her as he carried her back to her bed. She'd felt lighter than he expected, but he was also playing the dangerous game of pretending this reality wasn't real. He'd taken a route similar as her, allowing the IVF to be the main focus for the time being.</p><p>He didn't want to think about the fact that she was shedding weight and growing pale due to the terror her body was under.</p><p>But he'd taken notice. He'd noticed that her skin was losing its olive-toned glow. He'd seen that her clothes were practically hanging off of her body at this point. Sometimes he even wondered if some of the bruises that covered her skin were from the constant injections or just the plain fact that her body was going through horrendous changes.</p><p>She only had a few more days left of that, the IVF and the bright red sharps container on her countertop was becoming less translucent as it filled with discarded needles. He wasn't ready to think about what would come after, but now he didn't have a choice. He'd made a promise to stick by her through this, and he kept his promises.</p><p>He had stayed that night. When Simon had left and she was wading through the waters of exhaustion and fear. He'd made himself comfortable on the couch, afraid to leave her by herself. When she had woken up and found him there, she had figured that he'd just returned by morning, too exhausted to notice that he was wearing the same clothes. He didn't bother correcting her.</p><p>That was when he'd truly noticed the light in her eyes was gone.</p><p>She'd walked in the kitchen, her arms crossed over the oversized sweater she'd been wearing. Her stare had no real focus, attaching onto whatever was in front of her. Her words were flat and dull, monosyllabic. He'd prepared her morning injection for her and a cup of tea.</p><p>A day later, nothing had changed.</p><p>He hadn't really expected it to. She was going numb; shutting down as she prepared to hear exactly what she was expecting to hear from Doctor Keller. She was expecting her tests to come back positive for the gene mutations, she was expecting her entire treatment plan to derail.</p><p>She was expecting to lose more of herself.</p><p>Mentally. Emotionally.<em> Physically.</em></p><p>He's waiting for her that morning as well, only he hadn't spent the night. She'd come into the kitchen once again with a little less of her soul. Next to her tea was the layout of the sterile needles and quickly emptying bottles of Menopur. For as long as she'd been doing injections, she had yet to do one herself. He was there, always. Sometimes it would be in the cribs during their break. Sometimes he'd be knocking on her door just as she was about to leave for work and he'd administer her doses.</p><p>She doesn't say much, or anything at all on the second morning. She rolls the band of her sweatpants down, opting for her bruised stomach to receive the day's first assault. He doesn't say much either. Not even one of his imbecilic jokes about making a baby.</p><p>He can sense her anxiety, even as it's deeply rooted beneath her new shellshocked exterior. The needle sticks her abdomen and she doesn't flinch anymore. He's gentle, and she's thankful for that. She mumbles something resembling a <em>'thanks'</em> under her breath and grabs the mug of tea he's prepared for her.</p><p>He wants to ask her if she still wants him to come to her appointment, but he's afraid she'll recant her previous — <em>well,</em> he wouldn't call it an <em>invitation,</em> per se.</p><p>In silence, he watches her as she sits down on the couch. He's peering over the island, observing her blank stare. He'll make breakfast, and maybe it'll help. It won't, but he can think for at least a few minutes that it might. She's returned to not eating, he's barely seen her touch anything more than a mug of tea throughout the last day and a half.</p><p>The eggs fry in the skillet, the sizzling sounds merging with the blathering from the morning news that she's pretending to pay attention to.</p><p>He stares at her for a little while longer, taking in the sight in front of him. If he didn't know any better, he'd say that she's given up. Except, he does know better. He knows Olivia Benson doesn't give up. She may sink all the way to rock bottom if the event calls for it, but she has yet to ever give up. She's fiercely resilient and she has a near ungodly persistence that stays within her at all times.</p><p>He wants to tell her that she will rise above the water again, as long as she just keeps fighting. Though, he doesn't say it. Instead, he prays that somehow, someway, she can feel it. He wants to release it into the air, to allow it to emanate from him to her.</p><p>The eggs on the pan are beginning to burn but he isn't paying attention. His eyes are glued to her as she lives in her own little bubble away from the world. The pain of the scene in front of him is decimating his own spirit, and he gulps away the persistent lump in his throat. Maybe it's witnessing her in such a low state or maybe it's the mountain of emotions that he's been shoving so far down, but it hurts. It's simple, it hurts, but it's not simple because it hurts in ways he would've never fathomed. She's slowly blinking as if her body has shifted into auto-pilot and he's blinking away the tears that are assaulting his eyes.</p><p>It takes every ounce of his strength to hold it together and he's mentally giving her more credit than ever for having held it together as long as she did. It's striking him that this is her life now. Irrevocable ups and downs that she couldn't run from even if she tried. But if she can't run, he won't either. He'll choose to stay in a situation that she has no choice but to stay in.</p><p>He'll stay not to be a hero, but because despite how horrific this has all become, he doesn't want to leave. In the strangest way, there was nowhere else he'd wanted to be. He'd never forgive himself for leaving before, back when he'd persecuted her for choosing to do IVF.</p><p>He's moving the first half of their breakfast onto their designated plates before he goes searching for the rest. He mentally makes a note of the near-empty fridge and tells himself that he'll pick some food up for her. Normally, she'd argue that she could do it herself, but he sees no arguments coming from her any time soon. He'll fish out his mother's old recipe cards and he'll make her a real dinner. Yeah, that's what he'll do.</p><p>He's shocked she even has bacon among the scarce amount of food, and he knows that he's probably going overboard, given that she's not going to eat it. But he wants to try. He wants her to try. She needs to try. He won't pester her or even beg, but he'll be what she needs. He'll do his best.</p><p>He swipes the plates from the counter and sits himself down next to her on the couch. He sets her plate down on the coffee table, diving into his own while he glances over at the television. "So uh… the appointment is at noon. Maybe we could take a cab, have 'em drop us off at 68th and we can walk the rest of the way? Might be nice to get some fresh air. The leaves are starting to change, we'll be up to our asses in snow soon enough. Then maybe we can walk to lunch after?"</p><p>At first, he wonders if she heard a word he said. But she takes a cautious sip from her mug before she softly nods. "Okay," she whispers, still staring off into the distance.</p><p>He doesn't want to push, she doesn't respond well to being pushed. But he can't help but think that taking the lead instead of pushing might help. He hates the intrusion of thoughts but he can't help but wonder how long until fresh air for her becomes sparse. How long until her scenery is from only a glass pane in a bleak hospital room?</p><p>"Okay," he confirms, just as quiet as he takes another bite.</p><p>He'll take the win.</p>
<hr/><p>By the time eleven rolls around, he's the one quickly moving about her apartment. He helps her tiredly shift her arms into her coat, grabbing a scarf from the coat rack at the door placing it over her shoulders. Mentally, he pictures that the Olivia deep inside of her is fuming over the fact that he's taking care of her. She's probably kicking and screaming beneath the surface, berating herself for daring to drop so low in front of him. But the light is still missing from her eyes and her lack of motivation is palpable.</p><p>Maybe, in some fucked up, reverse psychology way, this will help her. Assisting her will help her. Not in the way most people would think. He's not nursing her back to her old ways; he's trying to piss off the Olivia that is beneath the surface. He'll zip up her coat for her and hold the door, he'll make them walk the rest of the way to the hospital. He'll cook her breakfast every morning if he has to. He'll annoy the hell out of her with his attention and eventually, it will anger her. She'll be forced to muster up the energy to yell at him that she can take care of her own damn self, thank you very much.</p><p>And when she finally does, he won't negate it. He won't tell her that she can't take care of herself because she hasn't been. In fact, he wonders if he may even smile. She'll snap and unleash like a wildfire and it's his job to pour the gasoline.</p><p>When they finally reach the end of the cab ride to the outskirts of the park, he can see the hospital at the end of the street. Her nose has turned red from the crisp and chilly autumn air, and he's just glad to see some color in her face.</p><p>He's playing the long-con, and he's hoping it won't be long at all. "I always loved seeing the trees changing colors as a kid." he states, smiling with a child-like wonder in his eye as he looks around. "I'd get so excited when we'd move onto Earth science in school because every year they'd teach us more and more about the seasons changing."</p><p>She doesn't answer, but he can tell that she's listening as they leisurely make their way up the street. "You see, it's actually the chlorophyll breaking down. That's what makes it look yellow and orange. But it always blew my mind that some leaves would turn yellow or some would turn red or some would turn orange. They all came from the same tree, but they were all different colors."</p><p>The resting frown on her face begins to lift, so slightly that if he hadn't paid attention, he wouldn't have noticed.</p><p>"Most people call it 'fall' since the leaves fall. I always preferred calling it 'autumn'." he chuckles. "I remember, I think it was sixth grade, I did a report about the season for class. I was doing research on why it's called 'autumn' and I learned that it came from the word 'autumnus' in latin — which some people believe is rooted from estruscan meaning 'the passing of the year'."</p><p>If she had the energy, she'd chuckle too. On the inside, maybe she was. She wants to quirk her lip and roll her eyes because he's so goddamn sentimental when he doesn't mean to be.</p><p>She likes it when he rambles.</p><p>"I loved that. 'Passing of the year', it sounds so refreshing. I think it always gave me a reminder that things would get better. My parents would fight and my mom would go off the handle but the year would always pass and start fresh. No matter what. I liked the consistency. Or, better yet, the consistency among the unstable. It didn't matter how shitty things were, it was the one thing that could never disappoint me."</p><p>Even with her head hung low as she watches her footsteps, she<em> is</em> listening. Usually, she'd think that he was pulling this out of his ass just to give her a message of hope. But something inside of her tells her that he's telling the truth.</p><p>"I liked autumn too," she whispers, shoving her hands into her coat pockets. From her peripheral vision, she sees him smile, teeth and all. He nods his head ever so slightly, still looking around as they make their venture.</p><p>"Yeah?" his hands are in his coat pockets too, and his elbow bumps into hers as they stroll. "You've never been a winter person, have you? But I'm not sure if you like spring either. Spring isn't for me. I like the rain when the trees are changing, the leaves are falling, and the roads are sloshy. It's chilly, but cozy. Springtime never felt cozy to me."</p><p>She thinks of her little mental log cabin and how perfect it would be in the fall. He's right, she doesn't want the blossoming flowers that come with easter eggs and four leaf clovers. She wants the pumpkins and the cinnamon and the glowing midnight moon. Heaven lies in a crackling fireplace where wool blankets weigh them down and protect them from the harsh force of the world.</p><p>Her shoes are splashing against the puddles as they walk, and she doesn't think about much else other than that. Thinking about anything other than the breeze between her mythical pine trees feels like a thought that would be too heavy to carry. She's too tired for this.</p><p>She thinks back to that Robert Frost poem that has been in her head on repeat for days. She thinks about the diversion of the two roads and what they look like. She has to imagine an array of yellow leaves dividing the two roads, giving no hint of which direction to travel towards. She thinks about how the rain water has probably pooled on each little leaf, holding them all down against the sodden dirt floor. The entire pathway, both roads, covered head to toe in the bright yellow foliage, wearing it like a dress.</p><p>How could she tell which road was less traveled by?</p><p>How could anyone?</p><p>She wants to see the crossroads. Not her own crossroads, but the yellow ones with dampened fallen leaves. Maybe if she sees it, she'll know which path to take. An instinct, a sign, an emotional gravitation. Something other than her own choice to decide for her. Though, she isn't sure what it is she's supposed to be deciding. Everything feels decided for her already. On some level, it is. It's the familiar pesky feeling that there's a choice to be made, she just doesn't know what it's purpose is.</p><p>They're nearing towards the hospital and each step feels heavier than the last. She knows he's doing this on purpose. She knows it's probably just the beginning too. He's forcing her to continue. To just keep continuing, existing, pushing, whatever term he feels fits best for her. He thinks she's giving up. She's just tired. She isn't going to shatter and break if the breeze blows in the wrong direction, she's becoming familiar with her own tailor made process of grief. He's the unfamiliar one. He's underestimating her.</p><p>She isn't giving up; she is allowed to be exhausted.</p><p>On some level, she wishes he would save his energy for when she really needs a push. For when every little loss feels like the world's greatest defeat. As of now, she still knows how to put one foot in front of the other, even if she doesn't want to.</p><p>The future may be different.</p><p>She doesn't know her limit yet, it's still being tested.</p><p>She's gonna need this energy of his for when fighting a battle becomes fighting the war.</p><p>He's wasting it. She would've eaten eventually. She would've gone to her appointment. She would've come around, probably. He's gonna get tired, she's already waiting for it to happen. He'll start this act of keeping her going and he'll burn out faster than she will.</p><p>He can walk away at any moment. He is not tethered to her in any form other than work, she thinks. He holds no obligation, no contractual need to keep her upright. He's marching beside her now, but for how long?</p><p>Maybe that was why she had waited so long to tell him about the cancer. Prolonging the amount of time he'll be around because if he knows sooner, he'll burn out sooner, he'll leave sooner. Or maybe there were a hundred reasons why she didn't tell him and that just seems to be the one that suits the day.</p><p>When she knows he isn't looking, she glances at him from her peripheral vision. She wants the image in her head, and she wants to use her remaining strength to keep it there. The image of him beside her, grinning as he looks around at the trees. <em>Beside her,</em> more importantly. Still here.</p><p>Within a few silent moments, they're standing in the exact spot she stood when he'd realized she was sick. When he'd seen her across the lanes and the blur of yellow cabs. She'd thought her world ended in that moment, but the concrete still stood. Even now, after Simon, she'd felt the same. As if her world would never be able to heal itself and the rubble would never clear. She wondered how many more times she would feel that way; how many more events would feel like the final day.</p><p>"Do you want me to go in with you?" he asked, trying to hide his shiver as they stood beneath the entryway. Her eyes refused to meet his, fearing it would just exert more of herself into a moment that wasn't significant enough to call for it.</p><p>She knew she'd see his fear. Entering these places, no matter the reason, killed a part of the soul.</p><p>"Sure," she mumbled, giving a slight nod as they walked into the lobby.</p><p>When she checks herself in at the main reception desk, he's staring up at the lobby ceiling. He hadn't had enough time to do it when he'd rushed in the last time. The colors of the room had flown by him while he ran. He still hadn't unpacked that entire day in his head yet. He still hadn't dealt with the fact that he had actually received a phone call from Sloan Kettering telling him that he was being called as an emergency contact for a patient in critical care, or that the entire way there, he was battling with the voices that were telling him she was already gone.</p><p>That was for another time.</p><p>He doesn't know it yet, but the feeling he has when he sees the artwork in the room is the same reaction she'd had. Like walking into the softroom at the precinct, but with the knowledge behind it that it was just a façade. He'd always felt as if just a small part of him was betraying the person he was guiding into the softroom. He knows it's an illusion, do they?</p><p>It's the same here, now that he has enough time to take stock.</p><p>The only difference between here and the softroom is that everyone who walks into the hospital and sees the happy and colorful artwork <em>knows</em> it's bullshit, for lack of a better term.</p><p>Olivia's voice pulls him back, it always does. "We've gotta head to the third floor. That's where Doctor Keller's office is." she gestures towards the elevators, not quite waiting for him to catch up.</p><p>The walls of the third floor's hallways are beige and he wishes he wasn't surprised. He hates that she knows exactly where she's going, she knows exactly which turns to take and she does it with her face staring blankly forward. He's watching her as she's marching on.</p><p>The thing that strikes him is the fact that he feels no anxiety radiating off of her. There is no worry or wandering thoughts, just the notion that she is walking into certain doom. Because to her, she knows what he's going to tell her. She knows that the doctor will flip through the pages of her file and fold his hands together and with a sigh, he'll do what he does best; deliver bad news.</p><p>She got her answer from Simon, this is but a confirmation.</p><p>In a strange way, he wishes that she would worry. He wishes that something inside of her will still have the belief that this could go a different way. But she doesn't. Not from where he can see. She's so certain that she'd place her life on it.</p><p>It's the confidence that scares him. How will it be in the future? If she were to be told there was no hope, how long would it take before she would give up?</p><p>They reach the separate waiting room, which looks oddly like a doctor's office, that he has never seen one she has spent countless hours in. She's signing herself in at the second reception desk and he's watching her movements and just how planned they are. They're calculated with ease because she's become comfortable and familiar with this particular hell.</p><p>He wants to break over the revelation, but he can't. He can't crack and shatter the moment he sees just how much this has become her life. So, he sits instead. The savagely uncomfortable chairs that he remembers from the emergency waiting room are the same here and his back already hurts but his chest hurts more.</p><p>He knew that sometimes people repressed those events, ones like running head first into an emergency room to find the person they care about. He knew it was a response to trauma, but he had underestimated just how hard it would stir up within him as soon as he returned.</p><p>Her body practically fell into the chair next to his. He watched her blow a long breath out through puffed cheeks. She was staring dead ahead, her eyes blankly falling on the coffee table that was littered with health magazines. But his eyes were stuck on her as he bit the inside of his cheek. Sitting beside her felt strange as he couldn't shake the sensation that he was suddenly even more taller than her.</p><p>His lips stayed pressed together, resting with a whisper of a grin as he simply watched her. Even in her darkest moments, she amazed him. Her sheer strength to just exist even when existing terrified her.</p><p>The fear was finally radiating off of her, and he hated the fact that it relaxed him. Though, he knew fear was good. He knew it meant that some sliver of herself that held onto hope was still inside of her, somewhere. She wasn't submitting to the inevitable anymore. The way she tapped her foot or how she picked at the threads of her sweater with her nails, it was reassuring to him. He wanted her to keep hope, but she didn't have to be alone in her fear.</p><p>The back of his hand fell against the wooden armrest, open to hers. Though, it was probably the fact that she could feel his gaze burning on her cheeks that caught her attention and made her look up at him. Her eyes darted from his, to his hand, and back to his eyes again. Hers held a question and his held the answer.</p><p>It was a promise and an offer, lying at the tips of his fingers.</p><p>Without a word between them, she slowly raised her hand and rested it within his. He could feel her pulse thumping as their fingers interlocked and another deep exhale came from her lungs. She wasn't looking at him anymore, but her grip replaced the need for him to be in her sights.</p><p>
  <em>I've got you.</em>
</p><p>She remembered the night his hand had snuck beneath the door's threshold.</p><p>
  <em>I'm here for you.</em>
</p><p>His hope was matching her hopelessness. He had faith to abet her fear. She wanted nothing more than the ability to rely solely on herself, and maybe she could if she tried, but that didn't stop the fact that he was the air in her drowning lungs.</p><p>The anger she still quietly harnessed for his actions around the time he had found out she was sick, it was fading. She was forgiving him, her body first to accept the fact that she was wasting time if she held onto it any longer. Her mind was always the last to catch up with her body, and her body was always the one that brought him in.</p><p>The room was quiet. For that moment only, they were just two people who needed to lean on each other. And though they were sitting side by side, the hand holding hers was actually pulling her from the icy water she was falling in. Not a stranger passing by would be able to see it, but they would.</p><p>"Olivia, you can follow me back," one of the nurses said, stepping out into the waiting room. She took a fraction more of a second to relish the feeling of his hand in hers before it slipped free. She stood, him following in suit. She turned, lightly pressing her hand out to his shoulder.</p><p>"I uh— I can go in by myself."</p><p>"I mean, are you sure?" he asked, doing that insufferable thing where he licks and bites his lower lip.</p><p>She took a deep breath, finding her vision falling to the floor before looking back up at him a wistfulness in her eyes. "Yeah. It won't take long. But can you still sta-"</p><p>"I'm not leaving." he cut her off, gently stroking her shoulder as he nodded at her.</p><p>She flashed a quick and almost indistinguishable smile before turning to follow the nurse. With one foot in front of the other, her head hung low. If she were to ever feel as if a moment were going in slow motion, it was now.</p><p>He was watching her head off to war, once again. He knew the stakes. He knew the odds. It made him sick to his stomach, but he liked the fear for himself too. Fear meant hope, and goddamn he had hope in spades.</p><p>Just as she reached the door, she turned back to see him still standing like a statue. He grinned, nodding once more. <em>"I'll be right here."</em> he mouthed the words.</p><p>Then, he was alone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chapter Twenty Three - Desolation IV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>a/n: hi friends. It’s been a while and I deeply apologize. I posted on twitter a awhile ago about how one of my friends had passed away and I was going to take a break from writing to get my head together, so I just want to say that I truly appreciate how patient you’ve been with me. It’s been a trying time, but I’m going to give it my best effort to return to writing because I need that joy back in my life. Also, I’d super appreciate if you listened to the songs listed below, they are a really good way to convey what I want this chapter to feel like. </p><p>songs of the chapter: walk with you by janelle kroll (very important to this chapter)  /  salted wound by sia for the second half (which is around the time she comes out of the office)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His shoes tapped anxiously against the checkered rug of the waiting room. He could already feel the bruises forming on his elbows from the hardness of the wooden arm rests.</p><p>He was alone in the waiting room. The receptionist had wandered off behind closed doors and the only other people in sight were walking through the halls. No television playing, not even those god awful soap operas that seemed to be a given in waiting rooms.</p><p>For once, he was truly alone. The silence rang in his ears, growing louder with each passing second and fighting off his wandering mind felt futile.</p><p>She had nearly died under this roof. A few floors down in an emergency room bay. When he closed his eyes, his vision was replaced with the memory of the lobby rushing past him. He had run through the waiting area faster than the speed of light, fighting off the bile rising in his throat.</p><p>Even now, a sliver of fear rises in his stomach when his phone rings, and he's been meaning to change the ringtone for a while now.</p><p>
  <em>'Is this Elliot Stabler?'</em>
</p><p>He had been so damn mad at that point, trudging down the streets with no intention of going anywhere specific. He almost didn't answer it, that's what strikes him the most. He'd looked at the screen and saw the unidentified number, and he had come so close to sending it to voicemail.</p><p>He doesn't like to think of how he would've felt hearing it in past tense from a voicemail. Not knowing if she was alive or dead. It was hard enough to hear it from a live voice, hearing it in the past would've pushed him to the ground from the weight of the guilt.</p><p>
  <em>'You're listed as Olivia Benson's emergency contact. We're calling to notify you that she's currently in critical condition here at Memorial Sloan Kettering's emergency room.'</em>
</p><p>He'd damn near dropped the phone before he spun on his heels, running in the opposite direction. The anger hadn't faded in that moment, instead it fueled his fire like a rainstorm of gasoline. The hurt, the fear, the utter rage, he'd ran so fucking fast.</p><p>He'd pushed past every door, frantically searching through every glass pane as he just ran. And with his feet barely on the ground, he had said a prayer. It was not a prayer he would've said whilst sitting under the tall and ornate ceilings of his church. It was a curse, more violent than his angry pleas at God after his arrival while alone in the chapel. It was different. It wasn't words, because there had been no words yet. There was the wind blowing in his ears as his feet carried him and there was the falsetto cries from the monitors. Nothing else.</p><p>He hadn't said the prayer as much as he'd simply felt it. When no words would come to his mind because his mind was too focused on getting himself to <em>her</em>, his soul did the speaking.</p><p>That day, he had left her there. His back turned to her apartment door, unaware that hers in the same position, although it made a world of difference because she had been dying on that floor as he'd walked away.</p><p>The prayer was an ultimatum.</p><p>His anger towards her choices were irrelevant, and the anger he would hold onto for days to come as well. The prayer was an ultimatum with God.</p><p>
  <em>Save her...</em>
</p><p>
  <em>or I'm done.</em>
</p><p>Maybe it was worse that he hadn't said it. Maybe letting his heart do the speaking for him was where the real folly lied. Except, he knew more than anything that the prayers unspoken were often the most truthful. The one wish, the one intent. Had her heart stopped beating and had she lie cold on the operating table, he would've bid his farewell to the God he had known.</p><p>In fact, he would've burned every bible that ever touched his fingertips. He would've let John and Matthew and David and Luke dissolve at the tip of his match, in return, trading himself to become his very own version of Judas.</p><p>His faith was the last chip on the table, always. The very last offering he would ever give, and as the deceivingly happy paintings had passed him by in a blur, he was ready to roll the dice.</p><p>As a child, he had once made the wrong choice to use the Lord's name in vain while in the presence of his father. In that moment, as nothing but an eight year old, he'd thought that he had done his God an injustice so severe that he would burn for it. The belt sure replicated the pain.</p><p>Then, he was a man. Grown to stand six feet, a father of five and anything but a child anymore. He had done so much worse. He had done something that would make his eight year old self crumble with fear.</p><p>He had threatened God within these walls.</p><p>He had threatened God, as if he were anything more than a mustard seed himself. He was no deity with the ability to overthrow his creator, he was just a man who had come so close to falling on his knees as they carted her body away. But he was a man with one wish that day, and to him, that was powerful enough. Strong enough to change any current, any magnetic pull.</p><p>He would burn for her.</p><p>The walls feel cold and if his sanity were not intact, he'd think he was the only one in the hospital now. His prayers were different today. They were not almighty demands to an ear that was under no obligation to listen. Instead, they were feeble. They reeked of an unspoken apology for how he had acted towards his God the last time he sat in these chairs.</p><p>Though, he wasn't sure that if he was given a second chance that he would've done it differently. </p><p>Sitting in the chairs now was not accompanied by vehement begging, but rather submission. Today, he would accept the outcome for what it was meant to be.</p><p>His last irate demands towards God being answered with her survival had not taught him that being irascible was the answer. He knew, after the anger had turned cold, that his obsecration hadn't been the final decision for her. It never would be. He had no say in how the world would turn, or better yet, how <em>her</em> world would turn.</p><p>So his prayers were quiet now. Reverting back to how they were meant to be. Humility intact, acceptance to follow. He only prayed for strength and for mercy now. For grace and peacefulness. For forgiveness.</p><p>She's behind those doors right now and he wants to tear them down. The thought of her crying or breaking in a room only one hallway away from him shoots knives into his chest. His hand feels cold without hers now and he can't stop thinking about how her hand had felt as if it belonged with his. She had walked away, her head held down as she prepared for her world to shift. The look in her eye as she gave a last glance, it makes him wonder if it was a goodbye.</p><p>Though, if she were waving goodbye to him and the way things once were, this wasn't the right time. It was weeks ago, perhaps even the day she had left the squadroom for a simple mammogram appointment. Her destruction was already laid out in front of her, bombshells upon bombshells wouldn't add to this earthquake. Not enough to warrant one last glance at what it all used to be.</p><p>He hopes that if, God forbid, she is receiving bad news, that she isn't crying. He wants her to be fierce, though he understands that ferocity will not always be in the cards for her. Not anymore. But he can hope and pray that whatever news she is being given, she will take in stride.</p><p>If there's a guidebook for this, he hasn't read it. He can't think of the right words for when she comes out. When the tears will have stained her cheeks and she falls into him, will there even be a need for words?</p><p>The walls begin to feel as if they are closing in on him, and maybe they are. His eyes have been purposely avoiding yet another painting on the wall across from him. They make him feel just as miserable as they make her feel. If he was a man without restraint, he'd tear them down too.</p><p>It's only a matter of time until these chairs become more familiar than his own bed, and he will grow used to the shooting back pain from the hardened cushions. It's okay though, he thinks. If he's by her side, where she directed him to be if he were to be around at all, it's okay. If he must, he will find a home within the uncomfortable chairs and wooden arm rests.</p><p>He'll grow used to the silence, and <em>her</em> silence. Always the internal fighter, her. She doesn't speak about her battles, not about Sealview or her mother. Not that he's the psychiatrist's model patient either. Yet, he found it strange that he longed to hear her talk about her pain while he refused to do so himself.</p><p>She's on the other side of the door.</p><p>He hates it.</p><p>The clock is moving slower and each time the red hand ticks per second, he feels as if he is being interrogated by it. How long can he wait? How long until the idea of knowing she's crying or upset behind that door before he bursts through?</p><p>These walls play mind games. The whole hospital does.</p><p>Ticking clocks. Colorful paintings. Closed doors. Retracting walls. Sounding alarms.</p><p>If this was a game of psychological torture, he was losing. How did people walk these halls and not run screaming and crying while dragging the people they loved away? How did they breathe? How did they ever accept the fact that a piece of their heart, someone they cared about, was somehow living a life that required this place?</p><p>How was denial ever fought off?</p><p>His psyche is trembling and he feels it, he wants to grab her and run. He wants to ride until he's chasing the sunsets over the view of the road. Anything to take her away from this and allow it to disappear. But it won't. It won't go away if he wishes hard enough and it won't go away by ignoring it.</p><p>She's sick, he tells himself. Words he hates hearing, hates thinking. But despite the fact that the walls feel like a prison to him, he knows that there is nowhere else on earth she should be instead. She's in good hands, but she's also in the hands of fate.</p><p>There's nothing more a control freak such as himself hates than the inability to control fate.</p><p>He hates hospitals because he hates death. Hating death doesn't align with his job in the way most people would think. Most would assume that his hatred towards loss would send him running from the idea of being a police officer. Though, he liked to think that their job was one of the healing parts of the natural order of death. He could get justice, he could get restoration.</p><p>Hospitals were different. A saving grace, maybe. But to walk into a hospital with anything other than fear was a rarity. They housed birth and death all under the same roof.</p><p>He had heard a quote once. <em>"Airports have seen more sincere kisses than the wedding halls, and the walls of hospitals have heard more prayers than the walls of a church."</em></p><p>Hearing it had struck him in the gut, reminding him that nothing ever is as it's seen.</p><p>The walls of this hospital would hear more of his prayers than any other church he has stepped foot inside of. Even for a man of faith whose faith was hanging on by a thread, he would pray under this roof until it collapsed.</p><p>His eyes are drawn to the movement of the door and through the small pane of glass, he sees Olivia's shock-ridden face. As he rises to his feet, he sees her push her way past the door and into the waiting room. Her jaw hangs slightly and her eyes have no real destination locked in.</p><p>"Liv, you okay?" he breathed, reaching out a hand to guide her as she nearly stumbled. His grip came to both of her shoulders, holding her steady as he tried to coax a response from her. He could feel her trembling against his hands, her head slowly rising to look at him.</p><p>There was no answer in her swollen eyes, nothing he could decipher. It took every ounce of his strength not to lift his hands from her shoulder and cup her cheeks. Instead, his grip just grew tighter.</p><p>She searched around the room, never quite falling on anything particular. Her jaw still hung and her brows furrowed when she finally looked up and into his eyes. He could hear the audible gulp that came from her throat "Can we go, please?" she asked in a breathless whisper.</p><p>Wordlessly, he nodded. His arms came away from her shoulders, gesturing for her to walk ahead of him. Her march looked different to him now, yet he couldn't pinpoint exactly what about it had changed. Her emotions were unreadable as were the steps she was taking.</p><p>She remained silent for the elevator ride down. Through barely open eyelids, he glanced over at her. He hated the moments when he was unable to decipher whatever it was that she was feeling. The closest thing he could read from her was... confusion?</p><p>Her jacket was folded over her arms, covering her stomach as she headed towards the front exit. He didn't bother looking around the lobby this time either. In fact, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stomach it if he did.</p><p><br/>Running through those doors, weeks ago, he never imagined it would be like this.</p><p>Without a word between them, he pauses her and carefully lifts the jacket from her arms. Instead of putting up a fight or demanding she could do it herself, she lifted her arm out as he slid the sleeves over her.</p><p>Her eyes didn't meet his this time.</p><p>The fresh air washed over them both as they stepped out from inside the hospital. There was mist in the air, not thick enough to be rain and not light enough to be a sprinkle. Inwardly, he cursed at himself for not thinking about bringing an umbrella, the last thing he wanted was for her to get sick.</p><p>He'd expected her to hail them a cab and resist the idea of walking back, yet she strolled over the sidewalk as if the thought of a taxi was the last thought on her mind. He didn't like the silence, it felt too dangerous. Something fragile hanging between them, and he wasn't sure whether to ask or wait.</p><p>Her steps were slow-paced, and if he weren't mistaken, he'd think she was actually enjoying the moments spent in the misty rain. He could see the droplets pooling on her cheeks and he was just thankful for the fact that they weren't tears.</p><p>It's fifteen minutes of directionless walking before she finally breaks her silence. "I liked autumn too." she says, drawing from their earlier conversation. "I liked it because it meant I got to go back to school and escape from home. I didn't really like school itself that much, but it was better than being with my mother. It also meant that she'd be going back to work at Columbia so life was just a little bit more peaceful."</p><p>She stops in her tracks, her hands shoving into her pockets as she rocks on her heels. The rain falls a little harder and the droplets are falling off of her shoulders. "I liked autumn but it came with consequences too. Sure, I'd be free from my mother for more of the day but it also meant that she would be under more stress and that I would be living with the constant feeling of needing to escape further. It was a double edged sword."</p><p>"Liv," he sighs. "Just talk to me, please." he asks in the most helpless voice she had ever heard.</p><p>She stares into his eyes for a moment, blinking away the raindrops on her lashes. Searching his eyes had always felt like searching the ocean, and felt impossible not to drown within them. Her head turns, motioning for the bench that they had stopped near.</p><p>The anxiety radiates off of him as he sits beside her, preparing himself for what he had expected to hear the entire time. It was different though. He could prepare all he wanted, but when it came down to it, he wasn't sure he was ready to hear it. Maybe he never would.</p><p>"Elliot," she starts, taking a deep breath. "I don't have the gene mutation." she states carefully, blinking away the burgeoning tears.</p><p>His jaw falls as his breath becomes bated, and the smallest of cautious smiles. "Really?" he exhales. "But... but I though with Simon's grandma—"</p><p>"I thought so too. I was certain, actually. But I was wrong. Doctor Keller said that it's just a coincidence, that her and I.. well, you know." she shakes her head, still struggling to say the words when the time came for it. "I don't have to alter my treatment plan or expand my surgery."</p><p>"Liv, that's amazing, this is great!" his smile grows but he feels the insecurity. He feels the prayer being answered but with a different result closing in on them. "I mean, you're happy, right?"</p><p>Her next inhale is bigger and he feels the world falling off kilter. "Yes," she hesitates, her eyes falling down into her lap. "I'm more in shock than anything. It's just... " her head falls back and he's struggling to wrap his mind around why she isn't relieved or happy. "I don't think you're gonna understand if I explain what I'm feeling."</p><p>"Liv, what is it?"</p><p>"This whole thing!" she chokes out. "I'm just starting to realize that this is how it's going to be now." the hurt in her eyes is visible now as she shakes her head. "These ups and downs, all of it. I mean, I just spent the last three days completely convinced that my situation was deeper and worse than expected. And it was three days of pure suffering and fear. So were the first two weeks after finding out I was sick. Nothing about this is ever going to be linear or promised. I'm just gonna keep going through these ups and downs that, quite frankly, drain the life out of me."</p><p>He wants to hold her hand but the moment feels too sober and he fights the urge. But she's wrong. He does understand. Maybe not to the degree she's feeling, but he understands the feeling of impossibility. Instead, he listens.</p><p>
  <em>'Be who she needs you to be, Elliot.'</em>
</p><p>"This just keeps breaking me and breaking me. Of course, I'm relieved. I'm happy. But... it's hard to be happy when I realize that the last three days were not the last time I'm ever gonna feel that low." she wipes away the tears with the back of her hand, but they fall again and intertwine with the raindrops.</p><p>When he looks into her eyes, he sees the despair outweighing the relief and he wonders if he'll remember this moment forever. Olivia Benson with almost no hope.</p><p>The leaves are falling from the trees as the rain beats down on them, and he can no longer tell which on her cheeks are tears or droplets of the storm. "I just want this to be over, El." she says, her words shaking as she tries to breathe through it.</p><p>"It will be, Liv." he pleads, pushing a strand of hair away from her face. "You... you gotta stay strong though. This isn't going to last forever." he feels the ache in his eyes and damn it all to hell if he cries, he'll cry if he needs to because the look on her face is shattering him from the inside out.</p><p>"But will it?" she sniffles, her eyes only growing increasingly glassy as she cocks her head to the side. "Even if I do make it out of this alive, this fear that is living inside of me will never go away. Do you understand that? For the rest of my life I will be shaken to my core when I have to go to the doctor or when I feel sick." her lip quivers and he can hear her breaths breaking involuntarily. "I-I'm scared, El."</p><p>And she breaks. On a park bench in the upper east side of Manhattan when the orange leaves float to the ground, she breaks under the pressure of the fear. Under the grip of her anxieties. Her eyes clamp shut and she instinctually falls into his body, his arms anchoring her in. He rests his chin on top of her head as she cries against him, but it's okay because he doesn't want her to see him cry either.</p><p>Maybe every road was the road less traveled by, she thinks. But from where she's sitting, she's almost certain that her road hasn't been touched by the shoe soles of anyone else. Not in this detail. Not in rainy upper east Manhattan during autumn in the arms of someone whose badge was their only obligation to her, yet gave so much more.</p><p>The tide of a new season is upon them, and neither are ready to say goodbye to life as they know it. Whatever the new season is, it's wholeheartedly unknown.</p><p>He likes autumn, and she does too...</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Chapter Twenty Four - Desolation V</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>the song lyrics at the end are from re:stacks by bon River. I highly suggest listening while reading xo</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Between the cinder block walls, she is safe. The scent of betadine in the air might say otherwise. She knows its cement behind the drywall that’s been painted a calming sage green. She knows that if her world were to combust at that very moment, she was in her own little bunker. This had been her bunker from the start, the pause she’d put on a never ending whirlwind that had become her life.</p>
<p>She is safe.</p>
<p>She had savored the last injection that would be coming at her own volition. Though, she had forced herself to do it alone. Thirteen days of Elliot pushing the plunger of medication into her body was just enough. She wanted the last day to herself. She needed it.</p>
<p>Instead of relying on him, she had done what she had planned to do alone since day one, the thing she had been scared of doing from the moment she’d picked up the supplies at the pharmacy. She’d squeezed the least bruised and tender spot on her stomach and forced herself to feel the pain of the injection. Like the lighting of the last sacramental torch before barreling into the unknown.</p>
<p>If she couldn’t give herself one tiny needle, she was afraid she couldn’t do any of it.</p>
<p>The flesh colored band-aid blended with her skin, hiding her last self-inflicted wound that was given in the name of hope. In the name of a new life that was to come after her this chapter was closed… <em>if</em> the chapter closed.</p>
<p>The clock had started and all that was left between the barrier of now and then was 36 hours.</p>
<p>The last voluntary stab into her skin. This was hope, she told herself. Her eyes remained glued to the blank wall in front of her. This is hope. This had to be hope…</p>
<p>How the hell is this hope?</p>
<p>Staring at a blank office wall while waiting for a fertility specialist to come in and inject her with the last step, how was that hope? Cotton balls and bandaids turning into IVs and bags of chemotherapy drugs. If this was hope, why did it feel like venturing into a dark and unfamiliar hallway?</p>
<p>She needed to be alone for this one. If not to prove it to herself, then to prove it to the universe. No hand to hold, no shoulder to cry on. If she were to have hope, it would need to be solely reliant on herself. To bear the uncomfortable alone meant to brave it alone, and some part of her wondered if she was leaning too heavily on Elliot’s shoulder. She had to stand by herself in the rain of her own hurricane at least once.</p>
<p>She needed to feel this pain. It needed to sear into her skin like the branding of her fate, she needed to feel whatever it had to give. Relying on him as novocaine was dangerous and she had started to grow comfortable with his presence again. The way he’d pop the cap off of the needle with his teeth, barely losing his grin in the process. He’d crack a joke, anything that would make her smile. He’d sing into the capped syringe some horridly out of tune song and slide his feet against the linoleum. He’d swab her skin with alcohol, sometimes spelling out his name as if he were dragging his finger against a misty window’s condensation.</p>
<p>More times than most, she’d smile instead of wince.</p>
<p>He would always be delicate with the bandaids, his thumb pressing the adhesive into her skin with care and consideration. Never on the wound directly, only on the perimeter. There was a science to how meticulous he could be.</p>
<p>He made things okay, but they weren’t supposed to be okay. So, it felt wrong.</p>
<p>Being alone felt safer. The cinder block walls with the sage green paint and no sounds other than her shallow breathing, it was so much safer. Nothing would ever hurt worse than the chance of losing her comfort, and she didn’t like surprises. Inducing the pain was safer.</p>
<p>She stayed quiet as her fertility specialist came in with the sterile injection kit. Her eyes remained glued to the floor as the doctor quietly explained what she already knew. What she had known for a while now. To her own surprise, she winced when the needle slid into her arm. It was always different with Elliot. As if he already knew where the nerves beneath her skin lied, avoiding them with dutiful care. There were no baby-making jokes or smiley faces that he had already drawn onto the bandaids. It was cold and lonely, forcing her to feel just how lonely it truly was without him.</p>
<p>But this was hope, and sometimes hope needed to be cold and lonely. She wasn’t sure why, or if she would ever know. In her world, hope felt as if it needed to be lonely. It wouldn’t have felt earned or deserved had she not spent at least a majority of her time in the darkness, in the pits of despair. If hope came as easily as the offer of a hand being held, her universe rejected it. Things like hope were never just handed to her.</p>
<p>She had to earn it.</p>
<p>“New York state requires for a patient to have a friend or family member drive them home after the procedure. Do you have arrangements made for the retrieval procedure?” the doctor asked, interrupting the endless chatter in her mind.</p>
<p>“Uh— yeah,” she paused to think. Casey, she had asked Casey. Just another self-sabotaging plan in denying herself of any real comfort. She had reliability, that was the maximum of what she needed. “Yeah, my friend Casey is driving me to and from the appointment.”</p>
<p>“I know you’ve probably been walked through the procedure a hundred times by me and probably even the internet,” the doctor chuckled softly, pulling up a seat in front of Olivia. “Do you have any questions? About the procedure or the process?”</p>
<p>Olivia’s head dropped forward. She didn’t want to know, not really. She’d learned all that she could stomach but left the rest in the hands of the benefit of the doubt. She knew she’d be sedated, the procedure would take anywhere from fifteen to thirty minutes, and she would be sore for a few days. “Um, no. No, I think I’m all set.” she answered hoarsely.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By the time the day had faded into night, she was gone from her bunker of cement walls painted sage green and in the true comfort of her own bed. Though, there wasn’t much else to do other than to thrash between the cold covers as the hymns of never ending traffic filled her ears.</p>
<p>Sometimes, not always, but sometimes she liked to think about what color she would paint her child’s nursery. Even that iota of hope was painful enough, but sometimes it was what she needed. Her hand ran softly over the white duvet on her bed. She’d go with yellow, most likely. It was soft and it reminded her of the sunshine and hell hath no fury if her child didn’t know what pure sunshine would feel like.</p>
<p><br/>This painful world of hers, it couldn’t crash into her child’s life. It just couldn’t.</p>
<p>She’d pick yellow either way. Accented with flowers for a girl and animals for a boy. Not overly decorated, of course. Subtle and sweet. On the occasion that she had seen a fully decorated nursery, her heart never fluttered as much as it did when she saw something simple, something tailor made with every perfect detail in the right place. Most nurseries were designed directly out of a catalogue, as if a theme was picked and that was that. She wanted something different. She wanted the personal, not the designer.</p>
<p>Beside her in the silence of her bed, the screen of her phone illuminates the darkness. She sees his name written across the caller ID and her heart begins to beat a little faster. The smooth glass feels cold against her flushed cheek. “Hello?”</p>
<p>“Hey,” she hears his calm greeting on the other end of the line. “Did your appointment go well?” he asked.</p>
<p>She paused, wondering if she had the energy to dive into the logistics. He’d want to know, he’s doing better with this stuff. She’s noticed it — his willingness to learn and repair his previous ignorances. “It was okay.”</p>
<p>“Good,” he replies simply. “How are you?”</p>
<p>She paused again, longer this time. She wants nothing more than to sink into the cold bed and allow it to envelop her. She wants the force of gravity to push her down just a little harder into the comfort, but the inertia doesn’t budge. She can hear his breathing, his apprehension from her silence. Her eyes closed, shutting the already dark world out of her vision.</p>
<p>“Liv?”</p>
<p>“What was Eli’s nursery theme?” she asked, her voice quiet and gravelly from the established exhaustion. She can already picture the confusion on his face, mainly in his eyes. He always spoke from the eyes. He’s probably glancing around, furrowing his brows as he wracks his brain for any logical reason as to why she’s wondering such a thing.</p>
<p>He sputtered as he took a moment to reply. “Uh— sports, I think. Why do you ask?” he sounded concerned, she could hear it but her curiosity travels further than her willingness to answer him.</p>
<p>“Tell me about it,” she whispered into the phone.</p>
<p>“We uh— well, we didn’t know what we were having. Kathy was set on the baby being a girl but we still didn’t want to take the risk. That, and he wouldn’t need his own room for at least a few months. So, we did his nursery neutral at first. Painted it white, I think. Mainly white furniture. Then, Maureen went off to college so Dickie moved out of Lizzie’s room and into Maureen’s old room and we re-did his bedroom. I saved the old stuff just in case. So, when Eli was a few months old, I fished out some of Dickie’s old stuff from the garage and it was all sports themed.”</p>
<p>Olivia felt herself smiling as she listened to him talk. Her body was still cold but there was a warmth radiating within her chest. He always softened when he spoke about his children, the intensity that was Elliot Stabler calmed and his words became like music to her.</p>
<p>“What about Kathleen’s?” she asked. Now she could hear his smile on the other end of the line, or at least she thought she could. She could sense it.</p>
<p>“Ballerinas.” he chuckled. “We found out her gender instead of waiting like we did with Maureen. I still remember the smell of the pink paint. Maureen was still little, and she really wanted to help me paint so I got a little brush for her and a little paper plate with some paint on it. Not even fifteen minutes in and she turns and looks at me and the tip of her little nose is suddenly bubblegum pink.”</p>
<p>His laugh, his quiet and nostalgic laugh made her heart clench. The vision of him in her head was beginning to become more clear. She could see the smile, and the way his eyes looked as if they were a million miles away. He always seemed to have that haze in his vision when looking back, as if just like that he was suddenly right in that moment once again.</p>
<p>The line stayed silent, filled with only the soft sound of their mutual breathing. It isn’t her place to imagine herself in that moment either. That was all him. She had the future, that was what belonged to her. Her own memories to be made, her own chemical scent of yellow paint becoming ingrained into her mind.</p>
<p>She hadn’t realized that tears had formed in her eyes until the moments before they fell. Her breath involuntarily hitched with a sharp inhale. “Good night, Elliot.” she whispered, disconnecting the call before he had a chance to respond.</p>
<p>Her head lolled to the side, falling back against the pillow. Her hot tears dripped down over the bridge of her nose, the heat of them dissolving with the coolness of the pillowcase.</p>
<p>Her entire life revolved around a different level of survival than an average civilian. This was different. For the next — 30 hours, she had to survive differently. She had to float through it, feel nothing, just survive it. The transitioning phase of one chapter of her life to the next. Or maybe that was just a short interlude. The real chapter began in 30 hours. The one where the scent of survival would shift into something different. Something that actually carried life and death on its shoulders, not just the death of her spirit.</p>
<p>For the next 30 hours, survival was mental. Just as the last four weeks had been. 30 hours before the switch would flip and survival would consist of the beeping of monitors and the force of a breath in her lungs, this denial, this current state of her so-called survival was trivial. A joke. All she was surviving until now was her own damn mind.</p>
<p>The tears burned hotter, angrier against her skin. Survival was ducking from a thrown vodka bottle at twelve years old. Survival was a knife to her neck in the filthy bus terminal as a serial killer ran with two children in his arms. Survival was the dirty floor of the Sealview basement as her eyes clamped shut and the touch of metal froze her skin.</p>
<p>She felt like a fool for thinking that this, these 30 hours, were any sort of survival.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Casey’s foot impatiently tapped against the carpeted floor of the surgical center. Olivia was lying in the bed, waiting a fair bit more patiently than her friend who was clearly just nervous. Her fingers played with the admission bracelets on her wrist, flicking at the plastic band. She couldn’t help but scoff at the damn thing. Her entire life came down to the words on the bracelet. <em>Benson, Olivia Margaret. Date of birth: 12/13/1967. MSK Ambulatory Center. Allergies: Penicillin.</em></p>
<p>That was her life summed up in the only important details. That bracelet was her life, her entire timeline. Had it fallen on the ground and a stranger would pick it up, that was all they would know about her. That she was a Sagittarius who couldn’t breathe if she came in contact with amoxicillin.</p>
<p>“is Elliot coming?” Casey asked simply.</p>
<p>There it was, the exact sentence she was waiting for. She didn’t know. The answer didn’t really seem fitting for the moment. She didn’t know if he’d be there, and she didn’t want to think of how it made her feel because if she did, she’d probably shamefully fall apart.</p>
<p>She couldn’t think about the possibility of spending every day of the last two weeks bringing this plan into the light with his help, and to have the end result — or the partial-end result turning out like this. Every injection, band-aid, dumb joke, cotton ball, and ice pack was coming to fruition. Every reason why his fingerprints existed on the skin of her torso, and he wasn’t here to see it come to light.</p>
<p>No, she couldn’t think about that.</p>
<p>“I don’t know.” she responded, pretending to be groggier than she actually was. They had given her something to relax before going under, a valium or something. Truth be told, she didn’t need it. She had done what she always did when she felt stress like this — she had retreated. Quiet and reserved and practically living on a different mental level than the people around her.</p>
<p>He’d held her hand last time. Something unspoken, a promise maybe. There wasn’t any obligation though, not from where she saw it.</p>
<p>But there was still the wanting of his presence. A want that she chastised herself for even having. He wouldn’t always be there to hold her hand, and she knew that better than anyone. His hand in hers was a luxury, not a right. If she couldn’t do this without him, she shouldn’t be doing it at all.</p>
<p>Right?</p>
<p>Olivia Margaret Benson who was a sagittarius with a penicillin allergy could do this without him. Nowhere on her bracelet was his name stamped with the same ink as her own name. She had to believe that or else the walls would come crumbling down and the floor would give out from beneath her.</p>
<p>She wasn’t allowed to have a crutch. Never. The universe simply did not permit that. Not for her. Everything in her life came with the preparation of doing it alone in some way or another. This couldn’t be different. It could <b>not </b>be different.</p>
<p>So why was the panic beginning to rise in her chest? Whatever they had given her, valium, ativan, any of them, her body was burning through it faster than she could calm herself. Her palms started to sweat as she gripped the metal railings on the sides of the bed.</p>
<p>She was failing herself. At least, that’s what the devil on her shoulder was telling her. There was no angel on the other shoulder telling her to relax because she deserved to cut herself some slack. It was just the devil and the curse of her own thoughts.</p>
<p>“Olivia? We’re ready to take you back.” A nurse smiled upon entering the room. Though, her smile dropped when she saw the panic-stricken face of her patient.</p>
<p>“No,” she choked out. Casey started to rise from her chair. “No, no I can’t. He’s not here, I can’t.” the tears, how many times had they fallen by now? How many times had they burned the cold skin of her cheeks? “Casey, I can’t do this without him here.”</p>
<p>“Liv, I—” Casey sputtered, nervously looking at the nurse. “I can try to get him on the phone. Is that okay?”</p>
<p>“I need him here, Casey,” she began to sob, reaching her hands out to grip her friend’s arm. “I ca— I can’t do this, not unless he’s here!” her breathing sped up, her eyes darting around the room at their own volition.</p>
<p>She needed air.</p>
<p>Wait, no, she needed him.</p>
<p>Her mind flashed with the images of him holding her hand, walking around her apartment as if he owned the place, his smile and the fall of the orange leaves. All of it. Closing her eyes didn’t help, it only made the images appear with more clarity. Keeping her eyes open meant immersing herself in the image of herself without him.</p>
<p>She could shame herself another day for feeling weak. Right now, she needed him. There would be no fighting that truth, no denying it. Seeing this through without him was impossible.</p>
<p>Casey was at a loss for words. “I, I don’t know wha—”</p>
<p>“I’m here!” he shouted, the hallway filling with the familiar sound of his shoes on the ground as he ran.</p>
<p>Olivia shot up from the bed craning her neck to see from beyond the curtain. The tears fell harder down her cheeks when she saw him pull back the curtain, out of breath from the rush.</p>
<p>“You never told me that you wanted me to come so I assumed you didn’t, but it felt wrong.” he spoke rapidly, rushing over to her bedside to relieve her firm grip on the guard rails. “I’m sorry. I’m here now.” his eyes brushed up and down the sight of her, seeing a different shade of Olivia Benson that he wasn’t familiar with. She didn’t panic. Her default during stress was automatically shutting down, but the panic was foreign to both of them. His free hand brushed through her hair, coaxing her to lie back down on the bed.</p>
<p>“Elliot,” she whispered, her lip quivering as she stared up at him with glassy eyes. “What if I ca—”</p>
<p>“No,” he interrupted, kneeling down to be face-height with her. His hand gripped hers tighter, white-knuckling through his own emotional turmoil “No<em> ‘what ifs’</em> today. The Olivia that I know doesn’t do <em>‘what ifs’</em> and you are still that Olivia. You’ve handled the last two weeks of IVF like a freaking hero, so whatever<em> ‘what if’</em> you’ve got sitting on you, it’s wrong. Do you understand me? It’s wrong.”</p>
<p>With her lower lip still wobbling, she slowly nodded. “Promise?”</p>
<p>“I promise that I promise.” he smiled, exhaling the tension in his chest with a puff. “It’s something I used to say to the kids when they were little. Everything is going to be perfectly fine. I’ll be right here the entire time. If anyone can do this, Liv, it’s you.”</p>
<p>With apprehension still incredibly visible in her eyes, she nodded once more. Her head fell back against the pillow as she released a shaky breath. “Okay,” she whispered, glancing over at the nurse before her vision returned to Elliot.</p>
<p>She could see the pain in his eyes, the sadness and the worry. He stood as strong as stone, trying to cover up the unease that he wasn’t aware she could see. She saw the blooming of tears from behind the blue eyes staring back at her.</p>
<p>This was it. She was in the thick of it once again. Another moment that had always been a distant plan come to life. Another moment that never felt real until the very last second.</p>
<p>Suddenly, the breaks on the wheels of the bed were undone and she was rolled away from the triage room. Casey and Elliot remained standing, neither of them quite sure how to process the last few minutes of their life. Neither of them had ever witnessed the side of Olivia that had just been displayed.</p>
<p>Casey was the first to slink back into her seat, rubbing her eyes with her palms. Elliot simply stared at the now empty room where the bed had been. He slowly sunk back down into the seat beside Casey, basking in the hauntingly empty feeling in his chest.</p>
<p>There were no windows around, he noticed. Not like the hospital where ceiling to floor windows filled the waiting rooms. It was a cold and empty cement box. If only he had known that at her last appointment, Olivia had thought the same thing. It felt like a bunker. Though, Olivia’s bunker felt safer. To him, this felt like terror.</p>
<p>Between these walls, dreams were fought to be made true. Lives were created in petri dishes and families were completed. He wonders for a moment if a majority of other patients ever felt the fear that grips him. Probably not. Olivia’s specialist worked with people like her, people who had one chance left before chemotherapy killed that chance. But this office was also a beacon to other people, people without ticking time bombs in their chests. Just ordinary people who wanted babies.</p>
<p>God, he’d truly pestered her in the past about children. As if it were that easy. These nights, he lives to regret those words. The old fashioned way. That one was a low blow and he knew it.</p>
<p>But somehow this bunker managed to shift his perspective in a complete 180. The entire situation that he had injected himself into, <em>her</em> situation, had changed his perspective. The walls talked to him, told him the tales of truly how difficult creating life could be. Everything he’d ever known about the creation of life had been in black and white, but if this wasn’t grey then nothing was.</p>
<p>“Can you believe it, Case?” he whispers, barely glancing at the woman beside him. She’s busy, just as lost in her thoughts as he is. He follows her line of vision, landing on a corkboard filled with photos of smiling babies. Lives that were created from this very bunker. “It’s always you and me in the waiting rooms.”</p>
<p>“How did we get here?” she rasps. He doesn’t hear regret in her voice, only dejection. “Do you think someday Liv will have a picture of herself and a baby on that board?”</p>
<p>He mulls over the question but he doesn’t know why the answer doesn’t come as breasily. He wants to hope so. He wants to believe it will happen. She’s made it this far, hasn’t she? “She has to,” he answers with a shaking exhale. “If she isn’t, then what’s the point?”</p>
<p>Casey’s eyes softly close and Elliot can sense that she’s fighting off tears. He wishes there were a chapel in this medical center, just like the one at Sloan Kettering. He worries that if he prays here, in his cement bunker, the walls will be too thick for God to hear him.</p>
<p>He needed God to hear him.</p>
<p>He listens to the soft music floating through the rooms. There isn’t much else he can do except listen. He listens to the music but he also listens with a careful ear for trouble or distress, any sign coming from down the hall that Olivia is in need of help.</p>
<p>She’s probably sedated, drifting beneath the blanket of anesthesia. It’s probably the first time in a while where she felt truly nothing. Even sleep had left her restless, nightmares controlling every moment of rest.</p>
<p>He doesn’t sleep much either.</p>
<p>He wants to go outside for fresh air but he doesn’t dare to leave her. Logically, he knows it will be at least another half hour before she’s back in his presence, but his mind screams that leaving is betrayal. But the panic that wraps itself around his lungs is also a betrayal, and it’s one that he simply can’t fight.</p>
<p>He barely has time to glance at Casey before he’s gunning for the front door.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The clock seems to tick louder with every passing minute. She’s been gone for an hour now and eternities have passed. He sent Casey home, he knew she was itching with anxiety. Now, it was just him and the bunker walls.</p>
<p>When he spots a nurse walking in his direction, he automatically rises to his feet. The music on the radio shifts and he hears the gentle strumming of a guitar, a whisper of lyrics following as the nurse guides him.</p>
<p>
  <em>‘Everything that happens is from now on. This is pouring rain. This is paralyzed.’</em>
</p>
<p>His steps are shallow and when he sees her from around the corner, he feels something within his chest beginning to break. Her auburn hair is splayed across the white pillowcase, her tired eyes still closed. Her chest rises and falls and he can see the stain of her previous tears still on her cheeks.</p>
<p>Something in his soul tells him to fall to his knees, but he fights it. It tells him to grip the safety bars on the bed, hold the cold metal in his palms as he prays. She looks helpless and he wants to pick her up and run. Run as far away from all of this as possible. But he can’t because his knees are wobbling with the urge to kneel.</p>
<p>
  <em>‘I keep throwing it down, two hundred at a time. It's hard to find it when you knew it,’</em>
</p>
<p>He doesn’t fall though. He settles for sitting beside her in another cold chair. His hand reaches through the rail, holding her limp hand within his own. He feels his jaw lock in position, gritting down on his molars as they threaten to turn to dust. She hates looking helpless, and he knows that she’d hate a mirror right now.</p>
<p>This was what it had come down to. The shots, the band-aids, the cotton balls. His hand holding hers in as one of them lies in a hospital bed while the other one fights off the painful sting of tears.</p>
<p>All those bottles of liquid gold and all those stupid jokes.</p>
<p>
  <em>‘On your back with your racks as he stacks your load. In the back with the racks and he stacks</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>your load. In the back with the racks and you're unstacking your load.’</em>
</p>
<p>“Elliot?” she stirs and when he lifts his head to look at her, he sees one of her dark brown eyes staring back at him.</p>
<p>It hits him like a freight train.</p>
<p>But it hits her harder.</p>
<p>He watches as she comes out of the fog, as her emotions twist and turn within her. The more she becomes conscious, the more he can see it written in the lines on her face. Her lower lip wobbles and his heart clenches in his chest, his hand holding tighter.</p>
<p>“Elliot,” she says again, but this time with a panic-laced sharp inhale. Her tired eyes widen and her world is collapsing. Before a tear can fall from her eyes, he’s out of his seat and rushing to the other side of her.</p>
<p>The dam is breaking. It’s hitting her. It’s hitting her so fucking hard.</p>
<p>He pushes the railing down and crawls into the bed beside he’s throwing any and all caution to the wind. He needs her, she needs him, and nothing else is important. His arm wraps around her chest, his nose pressing into the back of her hair. He feels her chest puff as she cries, her hand gripping the forearm that’s thrown over her.</p>
<p>
  <em>‘I've been twisting to the sun, I needed to replace. And the fountain in the front yard is rusted out. All my love was down in a frozen ground.’</em>
</p>
<p>The music plays between his soft hushing and her painful cries. “It’s over,” she mutters between sobs. “It’s over, Elliot. It’s over.” her hand claws at his warm skin, holding on for dear life. He hides his face in her hair, pretending that his own eyes aren’t becoming wet from the sound of her cries.</p>
<p>It’s over, he thinks. The procrastination. The reasons she had come up with. The excuses. It’s over, the barrier is gone, and her problem is now face to face with her. “I know, Liv,” he whispers against her scalp.</p>
<p>“It can’t be over. Not yet, I’m not ready,” she sobs again, her head falling forward from the force of her cry. He feels her body trembling, every pent up emotion that had lay dormant for weeks now bursting at the seams.</p>
<p>No more IVF. No more pretending that life was okay. No more trying to outrun the clock.</p>
<p>His lungs burn but not nearly as bad as hers do. His hold on her becomes tighter, a harsh weight against her ribcage that pushes her into him. He wants to brush the hair from her face and dry her tears with the empty promise that everything will be okay. But now is not the time to lie, or at the very least, feed false hope. So, he does what he can do. He does what is in his power.</p>
<p>He holds her like the world is shattering, because it is.</p>
<p>
  <em>‘Whatever could it be that has brought me to this loss?’</em>
</p>
<p>Her cries come almost silently, but with a force that he hasn’t witnessed before. His only goal is to hold her as tightly as he can, anything to reassure her that her feet are still on the ground and that she is still alive.</p>
<p>It’s over. Even he struggles to realize that. They’ve already ran as far as they could, but just as they both knew it would, it has caught up to them. Reality has finally caught them in it’s cruel chokehold.</p>
<p>But, for now, they have the music. They have the hope, freshly harvested just a few rooms over. They have the moments of him lying against her back in a hospital bed as he holds her tighter than he’s ever held his wife.</p>
<p>They have now. Maybe now is all they’ve ever had. But, they still have to have tomorrow too.</p>
<p>
  <em>“This is not the sound of a new man, or a crispy realization. It's the sound of me unlocking and you lift away. Your love will be safe with me.”</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Chapter Twenty Five - Letters</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's half past midnight when she starts to pack her bags. She knows that she shouldn't have procrastinated as long as she has and that she probably needs sleep. But her anxiety had kept her from eating all day and she was starting to feel the pain of hunger that she could do nothing about. The longer she laid in bed, rolling pointlessly around, the more time she was wasting.</p><p>What exactly she was wasting by letting time pass, she wasn't sure.</p><p>She wasn't even sure of what to pack. It wasn't like it was a goddamn vacation. It was a few days in the hospital, followed by God only knows how many more days in the same hospital. Uncomfortable beds and scratchy gowns.</p><p>Packing for a trip she might not return from.</p><p>Even her washed clothes now smelled like that hospital. She'd tried to wash the scent out a hundred times but no amount of scrubbing could clear away the stench. After the 7th cycle, she'd given up and submitted to the fact that this was now just a given in her life.</p><p>Hospital smell. Hospital food. Hospital beds.</p><p>When she opened her dresser, the gold badge on the top layer caught a glimmer of light from the lamp. The reflection shined against her eyes, a motion that usually lit her face up and made her heart swell with pride. No longer. The clip hadn't been latched to her belt in a while and all that was left was the reminder of who she once was. Untouchable, unstoppable.</p><p>She held the badge in her hand, her thumb carefully and gently tracing over the engraved numbers.</p><p>"Liv," he murmured.</p><p>She glanced up and saw him leaning against the doorframe. A sad and solemn look on his face. She'd forgotten that he was even there. Carefully tucking the badge back into the drawer, she turned to face him.</p><p>"You should be sleeping." he said, no real accusation or disdain in his voice. Maybe disappointment, but mostly emotional exhaustion.</p><p>She remained just as emotionless, staring directly into his eyes as if they were magnetically pulled to hers. Oddly, she saw something similar within him that she had seen staring back at her in the mirror. A question or two, lingering and hanging over their heads. How the hell did they get here? How were they gonna get out?</p><p>"I couldn't sleep." she answers, her half-assed reply coming along with her turning away from his gaze. "I forgot to pack my bag, I didn't want to wait until morning."</p><p>His head slowly bobs and his grip on the doorway releases. Her eyes had fallen to the floor but begun to follow his feet as he toed further into her room. There is no awkwardness, no fear of crossing any unspoken line. They're both far too tired for any of that.</p><p>She hears the creaking of the springs in her mattress as he sits on the edge of the bed, her back facing him. She isn't in the mood to have a conversation, big or small. She wants to relish the alone time she still has with the beige walls and carpeted floor before its all teal tiles and sheet vinyl flooring. But there isn't much comfort left in her own home to draw from anymore.</p><p>"What's left to pack?"</p><p>She's glad that she's facing away from him because she feels a wave run over her, an urge to cry breaking through the walls of numbness. "Uh..." her voice shakes. "They said something comfortable. To pack an extra outfit or two just in case my stay is longer than expected."</p><p>God, she didn't want to think of what the hell that was supposed to entail. She was supposed to only spend one night post-op, but again, she was supposed to be healthy too so she couldn't really rely on the doctors' say.</p><p>He must've sensed that her mind was spiraling again. "Liv, turn around," he whispered, but still holding enough authority to make her listen. She spun on her heel, staring at him with utter confusion. "Come here," he motioned closer towards where he was seated on the bed.</p><p>Her steps were careful going towards him, her eyes scanning his for any hint of what he was about to tell her. She stopped when her knees reached his, her head bowing down to look just past his eyes.</p><p>"Give me your hands."</p><p>She cocked her head at him, pausing before lifting both of her hands to meet his. In an instant, the warmth of his palms against her skin relaxed the tense muscles throughout her body. She fought back the tears that urged on as he softly looked up at her. "You know you're gonna make it through this, right?"<br/><br/>"Elliot," she exhaled, dragging her eyes away from his.</p><p>"No, I mean it." he interrupted, his grip on her hands growing tighter. "I'm not gonna sit here and feed you some bullshit about how amazing your doctors are or that you'll be in good hands. We both know that's not gonna change shit." he chuckled dryly. "But I'll tell you the truth. You're gonna go in, and you'll be scared,"</p><p>She felt her eyes close as the first tear fell, listening to the bluntness of his words.</p><p>"You'll be scared, and that's okay. But you'll go in, they will wheel you away, you'll fall fast asleep as you count backwards from ten, and then you will wake up. You'll be sore and exhausted, probably covered in bandages and IVs, but you will be alive."</p><p>Her eyes had never squeezed so tightly shut. She supposed that this was the best part about who Elliot was. He knew her, he knew what she needed to hear — not what she wanted to hear. He was blunt and truthful, with little sugar coating. She focused on the feeling of his fingerprints against her skin, and the way the calloused ridges brought a soothing blanket of comfort over her.</p><p>"So, in the meantime, tell me what you need." he squeezed her hands. "Tell me what you need, I'll make it happen. Okay?" as soon as he asked, the tenseness in her eyes released and she was looking at him with tear-clouded vision. Her head fell forward as she gulped.</p><p>"I need a pen and paper... it's in the drawer in the kitchen, the one closest to the sink. Please."</p><p>He exhaled, a soft smile appearing on his lips. "Okay," he whispered, giving her hands one last squeeze before he released them and left her alone in the bedroom. She fell against the bed, bracing the edges as she sat down. She glanced around from wall to wall, feeling as if something had changed. She kept looking, but to no avail. The room hadn't crumbled and the walls hadn't fallen from the intensity of what she felt. The earthquake was all within her mind.</p><p>There was no earthquake at all.</p><p>He promptly returned with the notepad and pen, quietly asking her what it was for. "I just wanna make a quick list of what I need to pack," she lied. "But uh... thanks, El."</p><p>He stopped, staring down at her with the distinct look of sadness buried in the deep blue irises. "You've got this, Liv. I'll see you in the morning. Good night."</p><p>When he shut the door behind him, a teardrop fell from her cheek and onto the blank piece of paper. A shaky exhale left her lungs, her hand trembling as she hovered the pen over the paper.</p><p>
  <em>'Dear Elliot,'</em>
</p><hr/><p>Instead of an alarm blaring in her ear to bring her back to consciousness, it was the soft shake of Elliot's hand on her shoulder. He whispered her name, jerking her awake into the moment. The darkness of the skyline bled through her bedroom window, each building's lights blinking and glowing into the early sun-less morning.</p><p>
  <em>'Dear Elliot,'</em>
</p><p>"It's time to head to the hospital, Liv." he whispered once he knew she was partially awake. He held a hand out for her, assisting her in sitting upright as she used her other hand to rub her eyes. If the lights had been on, she would've easily been able to tell that he hadn't slept since the last time she had seen him. Instead, all she saw besides the skyline was the red lights on the alarm clock telling her that it was four in the morning.</p><p>She had showered the night before, leaving her clothes out for the morning knowing that she would be far too tired when the time came that she needed to wake up. Elliot had spent the night, using the cover that it would be pointless to drive home just to be back at her apartment by morning. In reality, it was to quell his own fears of leaving her alone for the night.</p><p>
  <em>'A few weeks ago, the day you found out that I was sick, the night had ended with a new scar. An incision under my arm, separating the skin that had covered one half of my ticking time bomb. Bandages, exhaustion, IVs, and soreness. Exactly what you had told me last night.'</em>
</p><p>Her arms and legs felt incredibly heavy as she slid out of her pajamas and into an NYPD sweatsuit. She tied her hair up in a short ponytail, a few strands falling down to frame her face. Looking in the mirror felt pointless, she knew she looked exactly how she felt.</p><p>She wondered what she would look like next time she came across a mirror. Maybe the same, maybe incredibly different. Her mind was too tired to wander further than that. But her nerves remained dull, to her surprise. The thought of Elliot lingering somewhere in her apartment brought her enough solace to keep the anxiety at bay.</p><p>Elliot carried her bags to the door, double checking to make sure she had everything she needed as she zipped her coat up. If she were being honest, she would admit that she felt more like a zombie than a human being. Exhaustion ached through every bone in her body, her eyes shutting at their own free will to restore any energy that she had retained.</p><p>
  <em>'I don't know how you knew, maybe you guessed. But there was something you got wrong. I was, or at least at the moment I'm writing this, am not afraid of the surgery. I mean, I am. Obviously, anyone who is about to be cut open is scared. But, I guess my other fears outweighed that. Everyone has fears of death. It's human nature to be scared of going to sleep and never waking up. Who would we be without fear? I guess what I'm trying to say is that, out of all that will happen to me, it's not death that I'm scared of.'</em>
</p><p>Raindrops dribbled down the windows of the sedan, catching the bright streaks of light that bled through the darkness of the city. Her head rested against the cold glass of the window, her breath leaving a fog of condensation just below her nose.</p><p>When his hand met hers for what she counted as the fifth time, it felt more natural than any other. Resting against the cool plastic console, his skin sent warmth into her fingers. There was no capacity to admit how right it felt, at least not today. Today, she reserved her mind for the road that lies ahead of her. Not for the feeling of his fingerprints resting against her skin, or the tight squeeze she would feel from his grip whenever she'd unconsciously sigh.</p><p>There are no words, no passing of sweet nothings and comforting affirmations. Simply the fact that she's holding another life in her palm — or rather, he's holding her. That is enough for her, for now. If it were all she would ever get, it would be enough. Maybe even more so. She doesn't need the sad look in his eyes and she isn't offering that in return. The sense of touch is the only sense she needs.</p><p>Her eyes draw focus on the reflection of herself in the glass. The red and yellow guiding lights that cover the bridges catch in the depths of her irises. The city that never sleeps, she thinks. She must've flinched at the thought because his hand tightens around hers. It isn't bliss, there's too much on her shoulders for that, but it's as close as she'll probably get for a long time.</p><p>She feels herself slipping again, the wave of protection she casts over herself in times like this. Times when nothing feels promised, not even her next breath. She slips away, retreats under her skin. No imaginary cabin or hours spent staring at the wall can fix it. No dumb joke or bandaid with a smile drawn on it.</p><p>The darkness, it comes for her.</p><p>
  <em>'It's the darkness. That's what scares me. What is survival if you're not really living? I know I'll probably be okay, eventually. It's what's between now and then that scares me. It's the fear that even though I may survive, I may not ever come out of that darkness. I don't want to change, not anymore than I already have. But I have no choice. I guess I'm afraid of that too; force. But the darkness? Well, it's taking control over the person I thought I was.'</em>
</p><p>The street lights illuminate the familiar entry sign of Sloan-Kettering and the pit in her stomach grows larger. She feels her pulse begin to speed against his hand, the cold swirl of adrenaline spilling into her stomach.</p><p>This is for the best. She's told herself at least a hundred times, but she has yet to believe it with every inch of herself. But it's true. There is nowhere else in the world she should be rather than pulling into the parking garage of Sloan-Kettering. No matter how fast her heart races and no matter how difficult it is to breathe, in her new warped and twisted reality, this is the best.</p><p>Somehow, what was best for her seemed to hurt like hell every single time.</p><p>The car squeezes through the skinny lanes left between the other parked vehicles. She watches as the toll bars rise, the red and white stripes practically hypnotizing her.</p><p>If she thinks about how every car in the lot belongs to someone like her, or someone like him, her mind will shut down. Some are probably long term, some are probably the property of those who will keep him company in the waiting room. Every single one of them belonging to someone whose life is now changed forever.</p><p>Because that's what this is. Not a hospital for broken arms and appendicitis.</p><p>
  <em>'I'm still struggling to say the words and have the bluntness to address the situation for what it is. See, there it is again.. 'Situation'. It's not a situation, it's cancer. It's cancer, there is cancer in my body. I guess I should at least face one fear and say it. I have cancer.'</em>
</p><p>The parking garage elevator illuminates a raw whiteness. Flickering light panels and rickety flooring. She can hear the mechanics of the machine whirring, louder than the elevators at the 1-6. That's where she should be right now. On call, coming in for an early case caught in the middle of the night while a cup of coffee burns her hand. Pressing the same button she always presses.</p><p>Despite how disgusting the color of the lightbulbs are in the elevator, they glow perfectly against his skin. Something stirs in her chest as she glances up at him. The tired bags under his eyes aren't hidden, yet he looks like an angel in the light. An exhausted, broken-backed angel. If her bags weren't in his hands, she would reach for him.</p><p>There's a moment that his head turns and his eyes meet hers before the elevator doors open. The fluorescents bleed into his eyes in that fraction of a moment, and it's an all new shade of blue that she's never seen. Even in her darkness, he is light.</p><p>
  <em>'I wish, if just for a split second, I could show you inside my head. Not to see the darkness, but the remainder of the light. I would show you how on my first day back to work, all I could think of was when we were fresh on the force, me especially fresh in SVU. I would show you that for five days after you held my hand under the door, I went back to that spot and sat there every single night. I would show you how the first time I smiled after my mother's funeral would be when you made some dumb joke 3 days later. I would show you the light, Elliot, because it is still there.'</em>
</p><p>She knows her way now, she has for a while. The secretary at the administration desk knows her on a first name basis. She knows the way to the right waiting rooms and which beige hallway will lead her in the right direction. Walking out from her apartment, he had led the way. It's her turn.</p><p>This is her turf now.</p><p>She leads the way to the surgical wing, tightly gripping the set of paperwork to be handed off. It's quiet in the halls, which feels like a stark change for her since usually the hospital is buzzing with life. The closest thing it reminds her to is an airport at the crack of dawn, where the darkness still fills the windows and only a few people are within reach.</p><p>She wishes that this was peaceful, but it's far from. Somehow, she misses the rush between the walls. She misses the white noise distracting her from the truth. Even with him by her side, the emptiness in the hospital at the rise of dawn only makes her feel that much more alone.</p><p>When her hands begin to unconsciously fidget and her breathing becomes erratic, she hears his voice and the smile that holds it. Her eyes meet his, and there it is. Just as she suspected, that goddamn grin. It's prideful and strong and he whispers 'You're okay,' and as if his word was gospel, she was. For just a moment, she was okay again.</p><p>
  <em>'I would show you the light because, on some level, the thing I'm most afraid of is the idea that you might not see it. That you may never know about all of those things that meant the most to me. That in itself horrifies me beyond the idea of death; that a cold metal table may be the last thing I ever feel. If I die, I want the last thing I feel to be the warmth of knowing that you know how much of that light came from you.'</em>
</p><p>It isn't long until the waiting room that only they occupy is empty once again, and her name is called. She's leading again, she always does once her shoes hit the floors of this building. She knows the maze, she knows the layout. Here, he is the visitor. But in the real world, he is the guide.</p><p>Her sweatsuit is shed into a familiar scratchy gown with a horrendous pattern covering every inch of the fabric. His fingertips are warm, though they send shivers down her spine as they graze her skin, tying up the strings that hold the gown together. Without being instructed, he carefully unclasps the familiar gold <em>'fearless'</em> chain from her neck, tucking it into one of the plastic bags meant to store her belongings.</p><p>Her body is shutting down, she can feel it. And although they are drenched in the bright lights of the pre-op room, the darkness is creeping back.</p><p>Wordlessly, he kneels down at her feet which hang just a few inches off of the ground. He carefully rolls the grey surgical socks up her legs. His eyes flicker up towards hers as he remains at her feet, and the light is fading within them. Not that it was all very present to begin with. Though, he can see the shut-down occurring. Five more minutes, he thinks. Five more minutes of her laughter or her smile, anything he can get.</p><p>When he rises from the floor, she doesn't move. Her head remains hung low, her breathing slow and shallow. As he seats himself beside her on the bed, the mattress dips under his weight. Without warning, he grabs one of the hands that lies in her lap, taking it between both of his. Her eyes trail upwards, slowly moving to meet his.</p><p>His vision flickers from her lips back to her eyes, his hands gripping hers with nothing but the intention of comfort and calmness. He can't help but to think of how different this time really is. God, last time he wasn't sure he'd ever see her again. The crowd of white coats and scrubs frantically rolling her bed away before disappearing into a closed off hallway. He hadn't even been sure she was still alive at that point. It had happened so fast, there was no time for thinking.</p><p>Now, all they had was time to think. The clock ticked loudly throughout the silent room, reminding him that this was supposed to happen. The seconds weren't bleeding away as they had last time. Sometimes he wonders if time ticks faster when he holds his breath, because that day in the ER, he hadn't taken a single breath.</p><p>This was <em>supposed</em> to happen. This was not an emergency or a surprise. It made him sick to his stomach, but this was supposed to happen.</p><p>His voice interrupts the partial silence, blocking out the ticking in the background. "If you need to cry, you can cry." he whispers, his voice husk with tiredness.</p><p>She considers it, but only for a fleeting moment. Her head shakes, her eyelids drooping with mental and physical exhaustion. Instead, she leans into his shoulder. Her head rests against his neck as his arm cradles her back. He can't hold back the urge to squeeze her just a little tighter. The floral scent of her hair fills his nose and her arms wrap around his torso to hold him closer.</p><p>She doesn't speak but it's okay because today, now, her actions are louder than any words could ever be. She doesn't cry or even whimper, she just holds him with the same tightness that he holds her with. Soaking in every ounce of comfort he has to spare, because God knows she needs it.</p><p>It brings a great deal of surprise to her that somehow, he can still comfort her like this. With the scratchy gown and yet another bracelet that tells the world about her penicillin allergy, that none of it matters. Because when he holds her, the world stops crumbling. Or, at least it just crumbles around them. He is the solid ground when the Earth shakes.</p><p>He wasn't sure if he'd held her for five minutes or five hours, but the simple sensation of her breathing against him was interrupted. A knock on the door from a nurse alerting them that it was time to go back. Time for <em>her</em> to go back.</p><p>
  <em>'So, this is my backup plan. I can't let you inside my mind, I can't push a button and display every prickle of light that breaks through the darkness. But I can tell you. I can tell you that I wasn't scared, or that I was learning to make peace with the possibility of my fate. I can tell you that although it wasn't for very long, you spending the night in my apartment was the most comfort I've felt in a while.'</em>
</p><p>Two nurses roll her bed away from the pre-op room, and his hand finds hers over the railing. Slow and steady steps leading to what feels like doom. Each step, each inch of flooring rolled over by the wheels of her bed, another inch closer to complete lack of control.</p><p>Her hand grips his tighter as he walks beside her, following them as they lead down a long hallway. He can feel it thrumming through her skin, the fear and nervousness. He will be her ground for as long as they'll allow, for as far as he can go.</p><p>The world around him falls to slow motion, each step lacking a little more gravity each time. He feels the fear now, maybe even more than her. He'd allowed her distractions to work on him too. The IVF, the procrastination, all of it. This is what she had been avoiding, wasn't it? The complete and utter fear of what lies beyond the doors ahead.</p><p>"This is as far as we can let you go," one of the nurses says, stopping the bed once they reached the double doors at the end of the hall.</p><p>Her eyes meet his just as his meets hers and the grip on his hand grows tighter. He expects her to look scared, but she always was an enigma; surprising him as usual. There is no fear, only readiness. She's waited too long, they both know it. No more running, no more pretending that this isn't reality. She's ready.</p><p>Slowly, he leans down over the railing of the bed and presses a long and soft kiss on her forehead. "I'll see you on the other side." he whispers, relishing the few remaining seconds he has with her. She nods against him, her thumb stroking his hand as she absorbs his words and comfort.</p><p>When he painfully pulls away, she flashes him a weak smile. There's something telling in her eyes, something he can't quite understand. Not peace, but rather the confidence of knowing there isn't anything left to be said. Though, there's a million things he has left to say, but she seems as if she's somehow already said them.</p><p>His feet are heavy against the floor as they push her away, the foot of the bed opening the double doors towards the OR. She's there, and then she's gone. But still, he stands.</p><p>
  <em>'If this letter finds you, don't be angry. Don't be cruel and callous, do not lose your light. Do not bruise your knuckles at the thought of me. Don't fall into the darkness that I had no choice but to be pushed into. And for the love of God, wait at least a month before you get a new partner, Just kidding.'</em>
</p><p>He wants to fall to his knees right there, right in front of the door that she is somewhere behind. But he can't, and he knows it. He knows that if his feet give out from beneath him, he may never rise again.</p><p>This is excruciating.</p><p>He is alone.</p><p>And this is excruciating.</p><hr/><p>The waiting room chairs are painful. They always are, it's like a damn rite of passage at this point. If his back wasn't aching, he wouldn't think any of it would be real. Hell, it doesn't feel real anyway. The nurses were nice enough to bring him a cup of coffee, which he forced himself to drink given that he's running on an empty stomach.</p><p>An hour and a half has passed and he's almost certain that in some universe out there, it's been lifetimes. The sun had risen over the New York skyline, which he had a direct view of. The stars disintegrated as the sky turned from navy to orange and orange to blue. An hour and a half and he felt fifteen years older.</p><p>They were supposed to call with an update from the OR, but he had yet to hear. His ringtone was set to high just in case, but hoping for an update this soon felt silly.</p><p>
  <em>'If this letter finds you, don't destroy yourself, Elliot. Go home, hug your children and do your job. Go to church and say your prayers. And when a song comes on in the squad car that you and I used to listen to, don't change the station. Call your mother and ask her about the paintings she sells on the boardwalk. Tell Kathleen that you're proud of her. Don't miss Eli's birthday party, the case can wait. Live fearlessly, I think I've feared enough for both of our lifetimes, so don't feel guilty if you try to live free.'</em>
</p><p>He wants to be there with her. Holding her hand, sitting beside her unconscious body because he can't shake the thought that maybe she feels alone. Wherever her mind is, however deep of a sleep she's in, he doesn't want her to feel alone. He doesn't want the only sound she hears to be the sound of beeping monitors and metal against metal.</p><p>His eyes draw to the entrance of the waiting room on instinct when he sees movement. He instantly recognizes several figures weaving through the maze of chairs and couches. Casey, Fin, Cragen, and Munch.</p><p>He rises to his feet, confusion covering his face. "What are you guys doing here?" he asked, rubbing the exhaustion away from his face.</p><p>"You think we're just gonna let you wait alone?" Munch quipped, dramatically flopping down in the seat across from Elliot.</p><p>"Yeah, they said only family was allowed but we lied. So, if they ask, Liv's got two old gay dads, a black brother, and a sister in law because that's what got us in here." Fin laughed, getting comfortable in the seat next to Munch. Elliot couldn't help but smile, turning to Cragen and rolling his eyes.</p><p>"Why am I an 'old gay dad?' Couldn't I just be an uncle?" Munch sneered, grabbing one of the bags of snacks that Casey had brought along with them.</p><p>"Go look in the mirror and ask me again." Fin answered as Elliot began to block out the two partners' banter.</p><p>Elliot turned towards Casey who gave him a warm and endearing smile. "You know she won't be out of surgery for a few more hours, right? You didn't have to come here this early, you're probably swamped at work."</p><p>"Yeah, like hell are we gonna sit around and leave you alone here. We might not be 'two old gay dads, a black brother, and a sister in law' but we are family, Elliot." she smiled sadly, looking down at her hands folded in her lap. "And... I think she would want us to be here." she pauses, the atmosphere surrounding them beginning to plummet with emotions. "I mean, the old Olivia would. The one who would've laughed and told us to scram if we were all by her bedside."</p><p>Elliot's nod was soft and just barely visible to the eye. He knew what she meant, even if she barely knew it herself. The old Olivia who didn't keep her guard as high as could be. The old Olivia that still knew how to laugh. "Haven't seen that Olivia in a long time," he muttered.</p><p>Casey's head bowed and he knew that despite her usual cold and hard demeanor, she was fighting back tears. They had shared a waiting room space together far too many times. The uncomfortable blue chairs with the wooden armrests that dug into their skin. They had grieved together. The emergency room waiting area, the church pews, the surgical center, now here.</p><p>"God damnit, Casey," his husky voice cracked. "How did we come this close to losing her?" he asked, his breath releasing as if a knife had shot through his lung. He could feel the lids of his eyes burning red, every atom in his body begging him to hold it together.</p><p>Her hand came to rest on his shoulder and he nearly jerked. Her hand wasn't the hand that he wanted to feel; it didn't harness the comfort and stability that always seemed to come with Olivia's touch. She felt cold when she didn't mean to, she couldn't do what Olivia could.</p><p>"I need a minute," he grunted out, shooting up from the chair. He'd promised himself that he would stay in the waiting room for the entire stretch of time, but her support system was there waiting just in case. He was certain that the four of them were staring at him with confusion as he abandoned the room, but not a shred of him cared.</p><p>
  <em>'If this letter finds you, find yourself.'</em>
</p><p>He charged down the halls, unsure of where his steps would lead towards. He didn't know this hospital like she did. He didn't have the floor patterns mapped out with every escape route marked. This was a labyrinth to him, a mystery in totality.</p><p>If he were being honest, he'd say how badly he wants to leave. Not leave her, but to leave the air that smells like gauze and bleach. To leave the pressured atmosphere that seemed to be bearing down on his ear drums. To take her hand and just leave it all behind.</p><p>When he stumbles upon the chapel, he feels a wave of familiarity wash over him. This is all getting so damn repetitive in his head, he wants to explode. Yet, he walks into the empty chamber with the oak pews and burning candles. He walks into the place that was supposed to feel like a home away from home.</p><p>He slides carefully into the back row, taking in the peace and quiet. The voices in his head ceased their demands when he'd walked into the room, and the pressure lifted. He reached forward, grabbing one of the bibles from the dock it sat on. His thumbs stroked the leather, debating on whether or not it was the right time to dive into this rabbit hole.</p><p>
  <em>'Do what you do best. Find your faith, hold onto it with an ironclad grip. You may not want to, but I'm asking you to. Don't let go of the Bible. I may not believe, but I know that you do. I also know that this situation has tested your faith in ways you didn't think were possible. Don't ask me how I know, I just do. I know you've almost thrown in the towel. Don't do it. Because I know, deep down, no matter what happens, you believe in heaven. Don't sacrifice your ticket there out of anger or spite. Not in my name. So, do what you do best. Light a candle. Say a prayer. Speak to your priest. Don't turn your back on God.'</em>
</p><p>He wants his phone to ring with an update from the operating room because the silence quickly changed from comforting to deafening. He wants someone, anyone to bust through the doors and pull him away.</p><p>Or maybe he wants a reason to walk away.</p><p>Faith is exhausting and he feels himself losing the will to bow his head and say a prayer. Talking to God, the easiest thing he's ever known, has become a chore. Ever since the voice from above stopped talking back to him and ever since he felt as if he were wandering directionless. Why pray when God says nothing?</p><p>One hand comes away from the bible and he presses the tips of his fingers into his eyelids. The sharp inhale of a breath is all that fills the room as he lets himself cry. It's been a while since he's cried, he's been too busy trying to be the rock she needed. Now it's simply him and the teardrops.</p><p>His breath shivers as he quietly cries into his hands, his elbows now resting on top of the bible. He won't pray. Not now, at least. His mind is too busy wandering every corner that was built around this new side of life. Praying would only make him angry. So he silently sobs in the house of God because that's the best he can do right now. It's all he can do.</p><p>
  <em>'The anger isn't worth it, El. It never is. The world will always be a dark place and I know that more than anything, it hurts you to see it, and that hurt turns into anger. So, if this letter finds you, unclench your fists. Relax your jaw. Take a deep breath. Let it go. Just... let it go. For me. '</em>
</p><hr/><p>An hour had passed since they'd transferred her from recovery to her room. She could feel the pain dulled from the drugs that had been pumped into her system, just a reminder that the new scar existed even if she wasn't in debilitating pain yet.</p><p>She hadn't seen Elliot yet, the nurses said something along the lines of wanting to wait a bit for her to settle first. She didn't know, she really wasn't paying much attention anyway. Even if she had, she wouldn't have protested. If she could prevent him from seeing her like this for even just a few extra minutes, it would be for the best.</p><p>"How are you feeling, Olivia?" one of the nurses asked, standing beside her bed adjusting the IV pump.</p><p>She winced as she tried to raise her arm, feeling the urge to rip the nasal cannula right off of her face. "Tired," she rasped, her throat feeling incredibly sore and dry. "My uh— my bag. Could I have my bag? I just need my phone from it." she vaguely pointed in the direction across the room.</p><p>The nurse smiled and complied, setting the bag on the tray that hovered over the bed. Using her good arm to fish through it blindly, Olivia's hand grazed over a thin folded piece of paper. Abandoning the search for her phone, she pulled the sheet out and unfolded it.</p><p>
  <em>'If this letter finds you, don't you lose that light, Elliot Patrick Stabler. Don't you dare.'</em>
</p><p>She stared at the scrawled words at the bottom of the page, blue ink and familiar handwriting. Her eyes closed as she felt the threat of heavy and exhausted tears beginning to form. As her eyes closed, she couldn't help but think of how different she felt from the night before. When the ink hit the paper and the words were brought into the world, she wasn't missing another piece of herself.</p><p>Though, it was better than the alternative of him missing her entirely.</p><p>Carefully, she refolded the letter and pushed it to the bottom of the bag.</p><p>The letter wouldn't find him. Not today. </p>
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